xxxii 2000

Transcription

xxxii 2000

XXXII
2000
Eksemplare van Kleio (ISSN 0023±2084)
kan bestel word van die Bedryfsafdeling,
Unisa Uitgewers, Universiteit van SuidAfrika, Posbus 392, Unisa, 0003 teen
R30,00 (BTW ingesluit) stuk. Tjeks en
posorders moet uitgemaak word ten gunste
van die Universiteit van Suid-Afrika.
Copies of Kleio (ISSN 0023±2084) may be
ordered from the Business Section, Unisa
Press, University of South Africa, PO Box
392, Unisa, 0003 at R30,00 (VAT included)
each. Cheques or postal orders should be
made out in favour of the University of
South Africa.
Die inhoud van hierdie tydskrif weerspieeÈl
nie noodwendig die sienswyse van die
Universiteit van Suid-Afrika nie, en die
Universiteit aanvaar derhalwe geen aanspreeklikheid vir menings wat in hierdie
tydskrif uitgespreek word nie.
The contents of this journal do not necessarily represent the views of the University of South Africa and therefore the
University accepts no responsibility for
opinions expressed in this journal.
Geset, gedruk en uitgegee deur die Universiteit van Suid-Afrika, 2001.
# Alle regte voorbehou.
Set, printed and published by the University of South Africa, 2001.
# All rights reserved.
Uittreksels en geõÈ ndekseerde artikels uit
hierdie tydskrif verskyn in HISTORICAL
ABSTRACTS en/of AMERICA: HISTORY
AND LIFE. Artikels verskyn ook in die
REPERTORIUM VAN SUID-AFRIKAANSE
TYDSKRIFARTIKELS.
Articles appearing in this journal are
abstracted and indexed in HISTORICAL
ABSTRACTS and/or AMERICA: HISTORY
AND LIFE. Articles also appear in the
INDEX TO SOUTH AFRICAN PERIODICALS.
33 2001
Editor/Redakteur
JOHANNES DU BRUYN
Co-editor/Mederedakteur
BRIDGET THERON
Review editor/Besprekingsredakteur
JULIE PRIDMORE
Editorial Advisory Committee/
Redaksionele Advieskomitee
M ADHIKARI, University of Cape Town
N ETHERINGTON, University of Western Australia
A J JEEVES, Queen's University at Kingston
C C SAUNDERS, University of Cape Town
Editorial Assistants/Redaksionele Assistente
N D SOUTHEY
J A TAYLER
P G EIDELBERG
E J CARRUTHERS
F A MOUTON
Journal of the Department of History
University of South Africa
Tydskrif van die Departement Geskiedenis
Universiteit van Suid-Afrika
Kleio XXXII, 2000
Contents/Inhoud
Articles/Artikels
The encounter between the Basotho and the missionaries of the
Paris Evangelical Missionary Society, 1833±1933: some perspectives
S G de Clark
5
Urban land claims in South Africa: the case of Lady Selborne
township, Pretoria, Gauteng
Jane Carruthers
23
`He possessed intimate access to the President': Piet Grobler,
Kruger's confidant
J C H Grobler
42
The voice of the `people'? Memoranda presented in 1947 to the
Sauer commission by `knowledgeable' Afrikaners
J P Brits
61
Reconstructing the middle ages: some Victorian `medievalisms'
Julie Pridmore
84
Searching for gems: the Kimberley Papers at Oxford University
Bridget Theron
103
Book Reviews/Boekbesprekings
Africa/Afrika
Richard Cope, Ploughshare of war: the origins of the AngloZulu War of 1879 (John Lambert)
112
Ben Fine and Zavareh Rustomee, The political economy of
South Africa: from mineral-energy complex to industrialisation (Albert Grundlingh)
113
Jan-Bart Gewald, Herero Heroes: a socio-political history of
the Herero of Namibia 1890±1923 (Russel Viljoen)
114
2
Kleio XXXII, 2000
P J Greyling, Pretoria en die Anglo-Boereoorlog: 'n gids tot
geboue, terreine, grafte en monumente. Pretoria and the
Anglo-Boer War: a guide of buildings, terrains, graves
and monuments (Bridget Theron)
116
R W Johnson and David Welsh, Ironic victory: Liberalism in
post-liberation South Africa (F A Mouton)
117
Gert Oostindie, Het verleden onder ogen: herdenking van de
slavernij (Marc Kleijwegt)
119
Fransjohan Pretorius, Life on commando during the AngloBoer War 1899±1902 (DioneÂ Prinsloo)
121
Nigel Penn, Rogues, rebels and runaways: eighteenth-century
Cape characters (Nicholas Southey)
124
Deneys Reitz, The Deneys Reitz trilogy: adrift on the open
veld: the Anglo-Boer war and its aftermath, 1899±1943
(Bridget Theron)
126
Pamela Scully, Liberating the family? Gender and British
slave emancipation in the rural western Cape, South
Africa, 1823±1853 (Nicholas Southey)
128
Gerald Shaw, The Cape Times: an informal history
(F A Mouton)
130
Hennie van Deventer, Kroniek van 'n koerantman: 'n persoonlike perspektief op die jare na `80 (F A Mouton)
132
Chris N van der Merwe and Michael Rice (eds), A century of
Anglo-Boer war stories (DioneÂ Prinsloo)
134
J C Visagie, Voortekkerstamouers 1835±1845 (Linda ZoÈllner)
135
General/Algemeen
K Theodore Hoppen, The mid-Victorian generation, 1846±
1886 (John Lambert)
137
Michael Howard and Wm Roger Louis (eds), The Oxford
history of the twentieth century (Greg Cuthbertson)
138
Andrew Roberts, Salisbury: Victorian titan (F A Mouton)
140
3
Kleio XXXII, 2000
Kenneth S Rothwell, A history of Shakespeare on screen: a
century of film and television (Julie Pridmore)
143
Guidelines for contributors
146
4
Kleio XXXII, 2000
SG de Clark: The Basotho and the French missionaries
The encounter between the Basotho and
the missionaries of the Paris Evangelical
Missionary Society, 1833±1933:
some perspectives
S G de Clark
The Paris Evangelical Missionary Society (PEMS) encounter with the
Basotho is an interesting case study for several reasons. When the first
group of PEMS missionaries arrived at the Sotho capital, Thaba Bosiu,
in June 1833, the Basotho had had very little contact with Europeans.
EugeÁne Casalis and Thomas Arbousset, together with their assistant
Constant Gosselin, were indeed the first Europeans to report on their
contact with them.1 Also, in the early 1830s the Basotho were still a
people in the making. They were mostly composed of diverse groups
who had pledged allegiance to Moshoeshoe in the previous decade,
after their polities had been scattered by a series of conflicts. Hoping to
protect the group which he was creating from outside threats, the
paramount welcomed missionaries, whom he had tried to attract even
before Arbousset and his companions arrived. With the support of
Moshoeshoe, Casalis, Gosselin and Arbousset founded the mission
which was to become the pride of their society, and the only such
endeavour among the Basotho for three decades. It was also a mission
which, unlike most of its counterparts in southern Africa, achieved a
measure of success: in 1848, after 15 years of Evangelical presence,
approximately 1,5% of Moshoeshoe's subjects had become church
members, and half as many were catechumen. Between 3% and 3,5% of
the population attended church regularly.2
ÐÐÐÐÐÐÐÐÐÐÐ
1
Two travellers, Seidensticher and Martin, had independently reached Thaba Bosiu a few years
earlier and had then carried on, never to be heard of again; Andrew Smith, The diary of Dr
Andrew Smith, 1834±1836, vol I (Cape Town, 1939) pp 110±111.
2
Based on the report of the missionary conference held at Bethesda in May 1848, Journal des
Missions EÂvangeÂliques (hereafter JME) 23 (1848), pp 361±381 and 401±427; FreÂdoux, 13 Oct
1852, JME 28 (1853), p 56.
5
Kleio XXXII, 2000
Missionaries and chiefs
This relative success can be largely attributed to the paramount's
active support of the mission ± although, for political reasons, he could
not always satisfy the missionaries' demands. Significantly, the other
missionary success in southern Africa, namely that among the Ngwato,
also occurred because of the support of their ruler, Khama. Both rulers
used the new religion in order to strengthen their power. However,
apart from this, the Sotho and Ngwato situations differed greatly.
Khama's political identity rested on the Christian religion. He
converted, and used the church itself to build and support his power:
it became Khama's church.3 In contrast, Moshoeshoe did not make use
of Christianity to enhance his personal power, but rather to increase
the cohesion of his polity. When the missionaries arrived in Lesotho,
Moshoeshoe had already ensured his position as paramount by
traditional means.4 For this very reason, his support of Christianity
was as much a liability as it was an advantage from a political point of
view: he took advantage of the missionaries' presence to increase and
even extend his control over populations away from the capital,5 but
the reforms he made in line with Evangelical demands caused much
discontent among his subjects.6 The ways in which Moshoeshoe and
Khama supported Christianity also differed. Moshoeshoe did so by
helping the missionaries establish their stations ± encouraging people
to move onto the stations.7 He urged people to attend the missionaries'
services and to pay heed to their injunctions,8 and he made as many
reforms as he could politically afford.9 Although he never converted ±
except perhaps on his deathbed ± he was clearly motivated by the belief
that much of the missionaries' message was valid; but, unlike Khama,
he did not attempt to control the church and make it his own instrument
3
Paul Landau, `The making of Christianity in a southern African kingdom: Gammangwato, ca 1870
to 1940' (Ph D thesis, University of Wisconsin, 1992), pp 44 & 76.
4
Leonard Thompson, Survival in two worlds (Oxford, 1975), pp 58 & 211; EugeÁne Casalis, Les
Bassoutos ou vingt-trois anneÂes d'eÂtudes et d'observations au Sud de l'Afrique (Paris, 1859),
pp 198±199; Casalis, 24 July 1837, JME 13 (1838), p 5.
5
Thompson, Survival in two worlds, pp 87±88; Maitin, 2 Jan 1844, JME 19 (1844), pp 374±375;
Samuel Rolland, 20 April 1835, JME 10 (1835), p 302.
6
Casalis, 20 May 1841, JME 16 (1841), p 403. See also Thompson, Survival in two worlds,
pp 91±93; Peter Sanders, Moshoeshoe, chief of the Sotho (London, 1975), pp 127±128; ClaudeHeÂleÁne Perrot, Les sotho et les missionnaires europeÂens au XIXeÁme sieÁcle (Dijon, 1970), pp 24±
25. Casalis, 5 Sept 1839, JME 15 (1840), p 126; Casalis, 20 May 1841, JME 16 (1841), pp 410±
412.
7
Thomas Arbousset, 30 March 1847, JME 23 (1848), pp 8±9.
8
Pierre-Joseph Maitin, 2 Jan 1844, JME 19 (1844), pp 374±375.
9
Casalis, 5 Sept 1839, JME 15 (1840), p 125±126; Sixth report of the missionary conference, 18
Nov 1840, JME 16 (1841), p 334.
6
Kleio XXXII, 2000
of power. The PEMS missionaries remained in control of their mission,
which was no doubt a far more comfortable situation for them than that
experienced by the ministers of the London Missionary Society among
the Ngwato.
The relationships between paramount, power, Christianity and
tradition among the Basotho also partly differed from those among
the Ngwato. In both cases, initially Christianity and tradition were
largely viewed as opposites. However, when Khama embraced
Christianity, it was a conscious act of breaking with the past for
political reasons. Moshoeshoe, however, did not gladly reject Sotho
tradition for such motives because, unlike Khama, he had reached
power using traditional institutions and means. Also, the fact that the
Sotho polity was a recent formation, whose identity rested on the
Basotho being Moshoeshoe's subjects, led by the end of the nineteenth
century to a somewhat unusual situation; the Evangelical missionaries
themselves became part of Sotho tradition. They came to be viewed by
the chiefs ± especially by the third paramount, Lerotholi ± as a way to
enhance their prestige.10 This was largely due to the fact that
Moshoeshoe, as founder of the polity, had welcomed them.11 The
presence of missionaries in the vicinity of a chief thus became part of
Sotho political tradition, and thus a mark of prestige.
Reception of Christianity
Despite the fact that the PEMS missionaries had a measure of success in
Lesotho, in the early decades of their presence the Basotho's general
attitude towards Christianity was very fluid ± although this was not
specific to the Sotho case. These shifts were often related to the
Basotho's perception of Europeans, especially in the first decades of the
missionaries' arrival. For instance, after some initial distrust, a number
of Basotho soon changed their opinion of the Evangelicals' message.12
This was largely the result of their favourable impressions of European
culture in general.13 Moshoeshoe, in particular, had been very impressed
with the innovations introduced by the missionaries.14 Conversely, the
resistance to Christianity which occurred in the late 1840s to the early
10 Ernest Mabille, JME 67 (1892), p 464.
11 Herman Dieterlen, 28 Aug 1886, JME 61 (1886), p 419.
12 Casalis, JME 9 (1834), p 143; Arbousset, 20 Feb 1837, JME 12 (1837), p 298; Arbousset, 29 Dec
1843, JME 19 (1844), p 250; Casalis, 26 May 1834, JME 10 (1835), p 34.
13 Arbousset, 28 Jan 1834, JME 9 (1834), p 303; Casalis, The Basutos: or twenty-three years in
South Africa (London, 1861), p 209.
14 Casalis, 4 Oct 1833, JME 9 (1834), p 135; Smith, The diary of Dr Andrew Smith, vol I, p 116.
7
Kleio XXXII, 2000
1850s can partly be ascribed to the Basotho's disappointment with
British policy, in particular with the boundary line between the Free
State and Lesotho decided by Major Henry Warden.
The periods of widespread interest in Christianity were in fact quite
short. They lasted a few years at most, and were usually followed by
times of hostility or by revivals of traditional customs. Until 1837, the
Basotho's reception of Christianity was in fact quite similar to trends
which occurred elsewhere in southern Africa. Prior to 1837, most of the
Basotho who had access to the missionaries' religious message
displayed a variety of attitudes towards it. Some were indifferent,
others were casually curious without taking it seriously. Still others
were unsure about what to make of it; they wondered whether or not it
should be regarded as valid and significant, and therefore be welcomed.
This relative lack of interest in the Christian message can be ascribed to
the fact that most Basotho were not fully aware of its implications. The
ministers of the Norwegian Missionary Society met a similar reception
among the Zulu, for instance. Torstein JoÈrgensen indeed ascribes Zulu
indifference to the Norwegian missionaries' preaching to à lack of
understanding, which again was due [...] to Zulu unfamiliarity with the
subject spoken of'.15
Moreover, even at this early stage, some Basotho ± especially the
elderly at Thaba Bosiu ± expressed reservations about the missionaries'
message.16 This had already occurred in December 1835 ± very early
indeed if one takes into account that, when the missionaries arrived, they
did not speak any Sesotho, and had to learn the language before their
message could be communicated. Their interpreter reportedly spoke
neither Sesotho nor Dutch well and, most significantly, `... he allowed
himself [...] to leave out of [their] preaching everything that Christianity
contains that was in disagreement with the customs of his ancestors ...'.17 Only by the middle of 1837 were the missionaries able to
convey their message clearly in Sesotho, so that, prior to this time, the
Basotho had virtually no access to the Evangelical views which were at
variance with Sotho beliefs. However, in the mid-1830s whatever
disapproval existed did not develop into outright hostility. It was only a
minority of individuals who disliked the missionaries' message, perhaps
the same number as those who were interested in it.
15 Torstein JoÈrgensen, Contact and conflict: Norwegian missionaries, the Zulu kingdom and the
Gospel 1850±1873 (Stavanger, 1987), p 236.
16 Arbousset, 3 Dec 1835, JME 11 (1836), p 143.
17 Arbousset, 19 Sept 1834, JME 10 (1835), p 97; original text: `... il se permettait [...] de retrancher
de nos preÂdications tout ce que le christianisme renferme d'opposeÂ aux múurs de ses
anceÃtres, ...'
8
Kleio XXXII, 2000
This period of relative indifference came to an end in 1837, when
many Basotho began to be interested in Christianity. By the following
year, people flocked to listen to the Evangelicals' message.18 A number
of Basotho converted. Among them were several of the most influential
members of Sotho society, which was unusual for missions in southern
Africa: among the Zulu, for instance, from the beginning it was only
outcasts and refugees who were interested in Christianity.19 This
period of widespread interest in Christianity can be ascribed both to a
greater availability of books,20 and to the visions of a councillor of
Moshoeshoe, Makoniane,21 which had aroused interest in Christianity,
and made it appear more familiar.
From 1841, however, the conversions which had occurred gave rise
to widespread opposition to Christianity.22 This resistance, which
sometimes assumed a violent character, lasted throughout the decade
and seriously impeded missionary work on the most recently
established stations.23 The situation of the Evangelical mission further
deteriorated from 1848 until the early 1850s. A series of events
occurred which caused existing opposition to take on new forms. For
the first time, converts defected from the church, especially influential
individuals.24 There was a renewal of interest in customs which the
missionaries condemned25 and many Basotho enthusiastically embraced the syncretic millenarian movement led by the Xhosa prophet
called Molageni in Sesotho and Umlanjeni in Xhosa.26 However, this
was followed by another short period of general interest in Christianity
from about 1854 to 1856.27
Sotho attitudes towards Christianity remained very fluid during the
1860s, but by the following decade they had largely settled. Most
Basotho had by then grown up with missionary presence, and the
Evangelical message was no longer novel enough to excite their
18 Casalis, 3 Sept 1838, JME 14 (1839), pp 87 & 93.
19 Norman Etherington, `Kingdoms of this world and the next: Christian beginnings among Zulu and
Swazi', in R Elphick and R Davenport (eds), Christianity in South Africa: a political, social and
cultural history, p 90.
20 Fourth report of the missionary conference, 10 Nov 1838, JME 14 (1839), p 180.
21 Casalis, 24 July 1837, JME 13 (1838), p 5.
22 Casalis, 20 May 1841, JME 16 (1841), pp 402±403.
23 Casalis, 4 March 1845, JME 20 (1845), pp 282±285.
24 Christian Schrumpf, 8 June 1849, JME 25 (1850), p 6.
25 Fran.ois Maeder, 10 Jan 1853, JME 28 (1853), p 165; Prosper Lemue, 4 Jan 1854, JME 29
(1854), p 208.
26 Schrumpf, 13 Feb 1851, JME 26 (1851), p 169; Arbousset, April 1851, JME 26 (1851), p 323;
Schrumpf, 1 June 1851, JME 26 (1851), p 373.
27 Report of the missionary conference held at Thaba Bosiu in April 1855, with reference to Morija,
JME 30 (1855), p 339; TheÂophile Jousse, 15 July 1855, JME 30 (1855), p 442.
9
Kleio XXXII, 2000
curiosity or for them to feel as much threatened by it as the previous
generation. Only in 1919 did a period of widespread interest again
occur, as a result of the influenza epidemic.28
Sotho reception of Christianity was also characterised by several
other traits. Firstly, opposition to Christianity was rarely motivated by
strictly religious concerns. Only in the late 1830s, during the first
period of widespread interest in the missionaries' message, did some
resistance occur because Christian ways clashed with what was
perceived as the will of the ancestors. In 1838 Chapi, the engaka at
Thaba Bosiu, criticised private prayer and schooling ± quite probably
literacy;29 and in 1839, when Moshoeshoe's wife Mantsane died, her
relatives opposed the paramount's wish that she should receive a
Christian burial.30 Later instances of hostility to Christianity were the
result of either grievances against Europeans, or of the missionaries'
demands which threatened the existing social organisation: the
Evangelicals forbade polygamy and the exchange of bohali for church
members. The opposition which occurred in the 1840s, following the
first conversions, was motivated by such social concerns.31
Secondly, although many influential individuals were interested in
Christianity and even converted in the early decades of missionary
presence, especially in the 1830s and 1840s, by the end of the
nineteenth century this had become very unusual. High-status Basotho
needed the customs which the missionaries condemned in order to
maintain their standing. The trend was accelerated by the resistance
which occurred in the early 1850s, as many of Moshoeshoe's relatives
and friends defected from the church.32 Also, as the nineteenth century
progressed, the proportion of women in the church increased.33
Whereas in the mid-1830s women had shown very little interest in
the missionaries' message,34 by the end of the century, small churches
were sometimes composed exclusively of women.35 In 1924, women
represented more than 80% of the church members. However, this
ÐÐÐÐÐÐÐÐÐÐ
28 Report of the missionary conference held in 1919, JME 94 (1919, 1st semester), pp 303±304.
29 Casalis, 15 April 1839, JME 15 (1840), pp 1±3.
30 Casalis, 5 Sept 1839, JME 15 (1840), pp 125±126.
31 Casalis, 20 May 1841, JME 16 (1841), p 410.
32 Fran.ois Daumas, 6 May 1849, JME 24 (1849), p 353; Report of the missionary conference held
at Carmel in May 1850, JME 25 (1850), p 336.
33 Adolphe Mabille, 13 Feb 1893, JME 68 (1893), p 154; B Pascal, 2 May 1898, JME 73 (1898),
p 879.
34 Casalis, 26 May 1834, JME 10 (1835), p 34.
35 E Mabille, 4 Feb 1890, JME 65 (1890), p 292; Report of the missionary conference held in 1901,
JME 76 (1901, 2nd semester), p 40. A Mabille, 13 Feb 1893, JME 68 (1893), p 154; B Pascal, 2
May 1898, JME 73 (1898), p 879.
10
Kleio XXXII, 2000
should not be interpreted to mean that women found Christianity
particularly attractive. It is true that the church allowed women to gain
greater social influence,36 and this probably contributed to the
phenomenon. However, the feminisation of the churches was mostly
due to the fact that conversions of men were increasingly unusual,
because the sacrifices required to join the church were heavier for them.
Thirdly, until the end of the nineteenth century, although Sotho
attitudes to Christianity frequently varied from one station to the next,
they did not follow a geographical pattern. In the mid-1880s, however, a
distinct regional polarisation began to emerge ± although the
missionaries realised the importance of the phenomenon only in the
mid-1890s. After the Gun War (1880±1883), many Basotho began
moving to the mountainous northern areas of the country. This was
partly due to concerns of security, but according to missionary reports
the emigrants also wished to avoid the influence of the Evangelicals'
religious message.37 The central and southern regions of the country
then emerged as areas where the missionaries had made most headway.
There, congregations were relatively large and the missionaries usually
met with little opposition,38 whereas in the north, converts were few
and strong aversion to Christianity was widespread.39
The adoption of Christian concepts and beliefs
Initially, the Basotho generally viewed Christianity as characterised by
several aspects which were presented by the missionaries as essential,
namely resting on Sundays, European clothing and architecture, and
literacy. Resting on Sundays was probably the most easily adopted,
because it had pre-existing equivalents: people had to refrain from
agricultural work during some ceremonies.40 Later, in the second half
of the nineteenth century, European-style clothing and architecture
became less strongly associated with Christianity, as they were
gradually adopted by society at large. Literacy was probably the
element which was the most closely associated with the new religion.
Until the late 1850s, interest in the Evangelicals' message and
enthusiasm for reading and writing went hand in hand.41 The fact that
36 Women could direct prayer-meetings where there were no men to do so.
37 A Mabille, 28 May 1885, JME 60 (1885), p 404.
38 Dieterlen, `Dans le haut Lessouto', JME 71 (1896), p 69; Dieterlen, July 1894, JME 70 (1895),
p 21.
39 Dieterlen, `Dans le haut Lessouto', JME 71 (1896), p 69.
40 Arbousset, 19 Sept 1834, JME 10 (1835), p 101; Casalis, 24 July 1837, JME 13 (1838), pp 6±7.
41 Daumas, 27 Oct 1843, JME 19 (1844), p 328.
11
Kleio XXXII, 2000
reading gave access to the Bible was not the only reason for this,
although it was why the missionaries emphasised literacy. The Basotho
considered reading and writing to be integral parts of Christianity:
religious activities in themselves. Some Basotho regarded them until at
least the 1840s as magical, sometimes even when they had attended
school and had some command of these skills.42 Many people seem to
have attributed protective properties to scriptures and spelling books,
which they wore around their necks like other amulets.43 This
perception of literacy in religious terms can be ascribed to several
factors. Firstly, teaching reading and writing was one of the
missionaries' foremost priorities. Secondly, apart from spelling books,
religious works were the only books available. Thirdly, reading and
writing appeared quite extraordinary in their own right, and exerted a
deep fascination.
Moshoeshoe's subjects were not entirely oblivious to the more
theological aspects of Christianity however, even in the earlier years of
missionary presence. Gradually, an increasing number of Basotho
embraced several Christian concepts and beliefs.
Importantly, one of the Christian notions which was adopted most
easily was that of a universal deity. Perhaps even as early as the 1850s,
belief in the Christian god had become widespread among the general
population, and was not restricted to converts.44 Various, usually
compatible, perceptions of the deity existed but the emphasis on them
often shifted according to circumstances. In the mid-1830s god was
perceived both as the creator of the world and as a judge responsible
for people's fate in the after-life.45 This latter notion was probably due
to the missionaries' insistence on the existence of heaven and hell. By
the late 1830s, during the wave of interest in Christianity, god was
most often perceived in his role as creator.46 Some converts had even
adopted the concept ± very popular in nineteenth-century Europe ± of a
deity who had harmoniously fitted the resources of nature to his
creatures' needs, just as a craftsman delicately builds a watch: the
concept of the Christian god as the `watch-maker' of nature.47 This can
be ascribed to the fact that, in order to convince people of their god's
existence, the Evangelicals argued that the existence of the world could
not be explained without the notion of divine creator. In the mid-1850s,
42 Arbousset, 17 July 1839, JME 14 (1839), p 459.
43 Casalis, The Basutos, p 83.
44 Hamilton Moore Dyke, 15 Jan 1853, JME 28 (1853), p 123.
45 Arbousset, 19 Sept 1834, JME 10 (1835), p 101.
46 Arbousset, 26 June 1838, JME 14 (1839), p 56.
47 Rolland, 15 Sept 1838, JME 14 (1839), p 46.
12
Kleio XXXII, 2000
the belief that the deity had intervened in the Basotho's favour during
the Battle of Berea (December 1852) led to his being perceived
primarily as a source of protection and peace.48 In the late 1880s he
was again mostly thought of as a good-hearted creator, to such an
extent that many Basotho did not accept the belief that he could decide
to refuse heaven to non-converts.49 In that period, his character of
judge had therefore come to be perceived as incompatible with that of
good-hearted father. By the beginning of the twentieth century, Sotho
perception of the Christian god seems to have changed radically. The
deity was no longer perceived as good-hearted: some Basotho were
fearful of him.50 This was perhaps the result of the missionaries'
greater insistence on hell as they tried to counteract the previous
attitude. The changing perception of Sotho chiefs, who were quickly
losing their people's respect, together with the fact that the Christian
deity was symbolically associated with a ruler ± by the use of the term
morena, lord, or other metaphors ± might also have contributed to the
emergence of this fearful attitude.
Unlike the notion of universal god, other Evangelical tenets took
decades to become common even among the Christians. For instance,
the notion that suffering was to be regarded as good because it was the
will of god was reportedly shared by a few converts in the mid-1850s,
and appears to have been common among church members only in the
mid-1860s. Other Christian elements acquired greater importance as
the century unfolded. Prayers, which had always been common among
the converts, began to assume a fundamental character in the late
1870s as a means to fulfil one's wishes and not simply for thanksgiving.51 By the 1910s, the trend had become widespread among the
evangelists.52 At first, the missionaries were quite satisfied with these
developments. However, they became displeased when the trends
became more marked. They began to view the converts' attitude
towards suffering as a form of fatalism, and their reliance on the power
of prayer as laziness.53
The Basotho were motivated by different reasons in understanding,
favouring, and adopting different Evangelical concepts. The fact that
they adopted the notion of a universal god rather easily can largely be
ascribed to their impression that this concept explained phenomena not
48 Dyke, 15 Jan 1853, JME 28 (1853), p 123.
49 A Mabille, 24 Nov 1887, JME 63 (1888), p 48.
50 Paul Ramseyer, JME 93 (1918, 1st semester), p 297.
51 Gustave Christmann, May 1879, JME 54 (1879), p 374.
52 Dieterlen, 21 July 1910, JME 85 (1910), pp 184±185.
53 Dieterlen, 21 July 1910, JME 85 (1910), pp 184±185.
13
Kleio XXXII, 2000
addressed by known myths, particularly the existence of inanimate
matter: it filled a gap in the existing world-view.54 Usually, however,
the contrary happened: most of the Christian notions which were
accepted had traditional equivalents, and were understood in terms of
these existing beliefs and concepts, or at least by analogy to them. For
instance, during the early decades of missionary presence, the Basotho
often thought of sin as a form of sickness.55 In this context, the death of
Christ could be understood as a sacrifice meant to cure mankind of sin,
because sacrifices were the ordinary way of dealing with illnesses.56 In
the 1830s and 1840s, even the missionaries were perceived in terms of
pre-existing notions. They were viewed as being similar to lingaka,57
although people were doubtless aware of important differences
between Sotho lingaka and the ministers. On some stations, at least,
the Evangelical ministers were also perceived as chiefs.
Moreover, in the 1840s during times of epidemic, the missionaries
and sometimes their converts were often seen as witches, and blamed
for the outbreaks. Christianity itself was then thought to be a form of
sorcery.58 In the same period, even when there were no epidemics, a
number of Basotho also thought that ministers or church members
bewitched people in order to convert them.59 These opinions probably
resulted from the converts' odd behaviour in terms of the existing ideas
and world-view. In order to become members of the church, the
Christians had to fulfil the missionaries' requirements and renounce
most of what was considered desirable by the rest of society, especially
the exchange of bohali (cattle for marriage), polygamy and initiation.
To the Basotho who had little or no knowledge of Christian doctrines,
these decisions made no sense. Initially, these Basotho seem to have
explained the phenomenon away as insanity. Isolated Christians
sometimes complained that their fellow-villagers thought them insane.
By the early 1840s, however, in some areas, converts who often were of
high social status were becoming too numerous for this explanation to
remain tenable. The idea of oddity which insanity entailed was difficult
to reconcile with relatively large numbers and with respectability.
Widespread rumours that Christianity was a form of sorcery were last
54 Casalis, The Basutos, p 238±240.
55 Arbousset, 5 Nov 1839, JME 15 (1840), p 208; Arbousset, 7 Sept 1844, JME 20 (1845), p 111.
56 Arbousset, 29 Dec 1841, JME 17 (1842), p 207; Casalis, 15 July 1843, JME 19 (1844), p 125.
57 Lingaka (sing engaka): persons called upon to either prevent or deal with problems and
misfortunes (sickness and drought, for instance) mainly by the use of magical substances and
sacrifices to the ancestors.
58 Rolland, 7 March 1842, JME 17 (1842), pp 369±370; Seventh report of the missionary
conference, 20 May 1842, JME 18 (1843), p 44; Rolland, 10 Aug 1843, JME 18 (1843), p 407.
59 Schrumpf, 4 June 1844, JME 20 (1845), p 56; Prosper LautreÂ, 11 Jan 1847, JME 22 (1847),
p 407.
14
Kleio XXXII, 2000
reported in the 1840s. However, during the rinderpest epidemic of
1897, the notion of sorcery resurfaced, this time not directed at the
missionaries, but at the British administration: many Basotho thought
that government officials had been poisoning the herds' water.60
In addition, some Christian notions were adopted by the Basotho
because they were found attractive, this motivation often existing
simultaneously with those already mentioned. A fairly good test of which
ideas were deemed appealing is whether or not they were present in
syncretic movements. The movement led by the Xhosa prophet Molageni
in 1850 to 1851 is particularly revealing in this respect, because it was
welcomed enthusiastically, in Lesotho. The beliefs held by his Sotho
followers confirmed the Basotho's predilection for the idea of a universal
deity, especially as creator, and for the possibility of an everlasting
blissful after-life, both of which were already evident in the statements
previously quoted by the missionaries. Molageni's movement further
revealed that the notions of divine judgement and punishment in
themselves appealed to the Basotho, provided that the damned were
those who had given up existing customs and the elect those who upheld
them.61 The phenomenon also showed that many Basotho had been
impressed by the stories of miracles performed by Christ,62 as well as by
the promise of general resurrection.63
Pre-existing religious elements which had not been criticised by the
missionaries became very important in the Basotho's view of
Christianity. In particular, this was the case with dreams. They had
already had great significance in `traditional' religious life, because
they were believed to be the way in which the ancestors communicated
with the living. Consequently, they began playing a part in the
Basotho's perception of Christianity very early. By the 1830s already,
some people dreamt of the Christian afterworld ± of heaven and hell.64
Such dreams sometimes motivated conversions.65 The missionaries did
not condemn those who converted under these circumstances, and they
even appear to have ascribed these dreams to divine intervention.66
Presumably as a result of this tolerance, by the 1880s many Basotho
had viewed dreams as personal callings, and considered them
60 Pascal, 11 Aug 1897, JME 72 (1897), p 600.
61 Schrumpf, 13 Feb 1851, JME 26 (1851), pp 169±170.
62 Schrumpf, 13 Feb 1851, JME 26 (1851), pp 169±170; Arbousset, April 1851, JME 26 (1851),
p 323.
63 Schrumpf, 13 Feb 1851, JME 26 (1851), p 169.
64 Rolland, 18 Jan 1836, JME 11 (1836), p 169.
66 Report of the missionary conference held at Morija in April 1853, JME 28 (1853), p 294.
15
Kleio XXXII, 2000
necessary to conversion. They might even have perceived dreams as an
integral part of conversion.67
In addition, Sotho understanding of Christian concepts and beliefs
was heavily influenced by the missionaries' religious practices. This is
particularly striking when one compares perceptions which developed
after Anglican and Catholic missions settled in Lesotho to those which
had existed before their arrival. The practices of these churches had a
profound impact on some of the views of Evangelical converts. This is
most obvious in their understanding of baptism and consequently
conversion. The Evangelical missionaries only administered baptism to
adults and adolescents when they believed that they were converted,
that is, when they thought that these Basotho had been completely
transformed, `reborn' by the holy spirit. Moreover, the Evangelicals
only baptised the candidates after they had undergone long preparation. By contrast, other churches administered baptism to young
children, which implied that the ceremony had transforming properties
of its own, and even that it was necessary for salvation. Baptism could
no longer be seen merely as the ratification of a change which the
person had already achieved by other means ± the holy spirit ± as the
PEMS missionaries believed and implied by their practices. Probably as
a result of this perception, from the 1870s onwards, the ceremony
began to acquire great significance for the Basotho, who sought it
actively for its own sake.68
Although many Basotho adopted several Evangelical tenets, other
Christian notions were largely rejected, even by converts. This was
especially true of the idea that Christianity constituted a set of beliefs
incompatible with `traditional' ones, and which consequently required
that converts should reject their previous world-view. From the outset,
the Basotho regarded the missionaries' religious notions as compatible
with their traditional ones, the validity of which were beyond doubt.69
This was one of the reasons for the initial lack of widespread hostility
towards the Evangelicals' preaching: their message was not perceived
as a threat to the existing world-view. Naturally, the missionaries made
it clear that they viewed traditional beliefs as incompatible with theirs.
Some converts did accept this, but they were a minority.70 Most
church-goers were not ready to doubt the beliefs which they had grown
up with, and which they had hitherto considered universal truths. At
the same time, they adopted many of the missionaries' tenets and found
67 Dieterlen, 16 Sept 1889, JME 65 (1890), p 12.
68 Report of the missionary conference held at Bethesda in May 1879, JME 54 (1879), p 332;
Ramseyer, 23 Nov 1917, JME 93 (1918, 1st semester), p 171.
69 Casalis, 30 May 1835, JME 11 (1836), p 19.
70 Casalis, 5 Sept 1839, JME 15 (1840), p 123; Rolland, 7 March 1842, JME 17 (1842), p 365.
16
Kleio XXXII, 2000
themselves adhering to both religions.71 This attitude seems to have
been even more general among the converts of the late nineteenth and
early twentieth centuries than it had been in the 1840s and 1850s.72
Missionaries of a later generation often commented on the Sotho's
adherence to both traditional beliefs and Evangelical practices.
However, they believed that converts of previous generations had been
closer to the Evangelical ideal, and there may well have been more to
this perception than myth.
In the early decades of Evangelical presence, congregations were
smaller than they were at the end of the nineteenth century. Early
missionaries were therefore in a better position to influence their
converts' thinking. This is substantiated by the fact that certain
Evangelical notions were accepted by early converts but largely
rejected by later Christians. This was especially so in the case of guilt.
The missionaries viewed a sense of guilt as a first step towards
conversion because they considered it the logical consequence when
one was aware of one's sins. They consequently strove to instil it, and
initially they often succeeded73 ± especially from the mid-1840s after
they had begun using the term lechualo, which meant conscience or
remorse.74 Some converts even felt personally guilty for Christ's death.
By the end of the nineteenth century, however, PEMS missionaries
complained that Sotho converts appeared to feel little guilt.75
Evangelical concepts and beliefs were not always either accepted ± if
understood in terms of pre-existing ones ± or rejected: they sometimes
also had an impact on the Basotho's beliefs and world-view by
modifying `traditional' notions. This was especially evident in people's
perception of their ancestors. In the 1850s Casalis wrote that the
Basotho feared them.76 By the late 1880s, however, most people had
come to perceive the ancestors as compassionate, and thought of them
more fondly.77 This was similar to the converts' view of their deity and
of their relationship with him, and probably resulted from the influence
of these Christian notions.
Several Sotho views stand out because they developed very
gradually, becoming widespread by the end of the nineteenth century,
and thus constituted long-term trends in the Basotho's perception of
71 Rolland, 18 Dec 1844, JME 20 (1845), pp 210±217.
72 Dieterlen to his mother, 9 March 1895, JME 71 (1896), pp 219±220; Henri Marzloff, 13 Jan 1905,
JME 80 (1905, 1st semester), pp 181±182.
73 Rolland, 18 Jan 1836, JME 11 (1836), p 169.
75 Dieterlen, July 1894, JME 70 (1895), p 17.
76 Casalis, Les Bassoutos, p 311.
77 Jousse, La Mission fran.aise eÂvangeÂlique au sud de l'Afrique (Paris, 1889), vol I, p 53.
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Kleio XXXII, 2000
Christianity. They are also remarkable for the fact that, although they
emerged for different reasons, they were closely related, and probably
reinforced one another.
The first of these perceptions was the Basotho's view of conversion.
As suggested by the fact that dreams had acquired great importance,
attitudes towards conversion became increasingly passive. In the early
1840s, some Basotho understood the notion in a way that was similar
to the missionaries' perception: conversion was seen as a process
which required both the intervention of the holy spirit and the
participation of the prospective Christian. However, this view never
became dominant. By the mid-1850s many of the Basotho who were
interested in Christianity seemed to find the notion problematical, and
were confused about what the missionaries expected should happen to
them.78 Throughout the nineteenth century the Basotho increasingly
considered the part they had to play in their own conversion as minor,
and viewed it more and more as the Christian god's responsibility. By
the 1880s, people had often believed that signs such as dreams were
necessary, and that one who wished to convert could only wait
patiently for them.79
The belief that conversion necessitated signs such as dreams also
revealed the perception that conversion was one critical moment, a
turning point in people's lives. It is unlikely that the Basotho literally
thought so, but the importance which they attached to dreams does
suggest that they often believed that conversion was not as gradual as
the Evangelicals ministers believed. The missionaries might have
unwittingly encouraged the development of this perception by the fact
that they classified people as either `heathen' or `Christian' ± despite
the fact that the notion of catechumen revealed their belief that
conversion was in fact a gradual process. This view of conversion as
being sudden rather than gradual probably reinforced ± and was
reinforced by ± passive attitudes towards it. In fact, conversion had
come to be seen as an event, something that happened to a person,
rather than a process in which one could be involved.
The development of these passive attitudes can probably be ascribed
to several reasons, and it is unclear which was the most important. The
diminishing influence of the missionaries ± as a result of the greater
number of converts ± probably contributed to the phenomenon in the
long run.80 At the same time, Evangelical doctrines themselves
unwittingly encouraged such passivity. This was naturally true of the
78 Louis Cochet, 29 Dec 1857, JME 33 (1858), p 166.
79 Dieterlen, 16 Sept 1889, JME 65 (1890), p 12.
80 Dieterlen, JME 80 (1905, 2nd semester), pp 341±342.
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Kleio XXXII, 2000
concept of undeserved divine grace, but other doctrines probably
facilitated the importance lent to dreams. PEMS missionaries did not
believe that these signs were required for conversion, nor that their
occurrence constituted conversion. On the contrary, they viewed
conversion as a long process during which one became painfully aware
of one's sinful state; a change of personality had to occur81 and a
deeper understanding of Christian beliefs had to be reached through the
working of the holy spirit. However, this meant that the missionaries
were of the opinion that believing in their god was insufficient to be
deemed a Christian, and that one had to undergo an unusual personal
experience. This encouraged the Basotho to think that conversion
required special signs, such as dreams.
A second development was that, by the end of the nineteenth century,
the Basotho had come to view being a Christian as synonymous with
belonging to the church. The converts considered this both necessary
and sufficient to ensure their place in heaven82 ± whereas others often
believed that being church-members was not even necessary because
god was too good-hearted to condemn them to everlasting torment.83
The converts' perception was mostly due to the fact that, ever since the
1830s, someone who regarded himself or herself as converted tried to
join the church. The missionaries' acceptance of such individuals into
the church when they considered them to be converted also encouraged
this perception. Moreover, the changing understanding of baptism
resulting from other missions' policies probably also played a part in
this development.
Thirdly, converts developed an approach which the missionaries
termed `formalist': Christianity came to be lived as the observance of a
series of rules, usually prohibitions.84 Because they believed that most
`traditional' Sotho customs were incompatible with their god's laws,
the PEMS missionaries had stressed very heavily that Christians should
abstain from them. People were accepted and allowed to remain within
the church only if they submitted to its mostly prohibitive rules, which
required important sacrifices. Consequently, refraining from the
practices which the missionaries disapproved of soon became in the
eyes of the Basotho virtually synonymous with Christianity. As they
then came to equate `Christian' with `church member', they viewed
Christianity as following church rules ± especially the converts, who
81 Daumas, 14 Oct 1839, JME 15 (1840), p 168; Schrumpf, 1 April 1845, JME 20 (1845), p 377.
82 Report of the missionary conference held at Leloaleng in Jan 1897, JME 72 (1897), p 212.
83 A. Mabille, 24 Nov 1887, JME 63 (1888), p 48.
84 Report of the missionary conference held at Leloaleng in Jan 1897, JME 72 (1897), p 212; Paul
Germond, 5 June 1898, JME 73 (1898), p 550.
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Kleio XXXII, 2000
were most directly affected by Evangelical prohibitions. The development of such `formalist' attitudes was probably facilitated by the fact
that it correlated with the traditional notion that one had to abide by a
number of practices in order to avoid angering the ancestors.85
These trends in the Basotho's views of Christianity shared a common
feature: they all represented increasingly binary perceptions. Thus,
conversion had essentially become a critical moment, a switch between
the only two possible spiritual states ± convert or non-convert ± which
respectively had become equated with the status of church member or
non-church member. Church members had no reason continuously to
try to achieve the deeper state of piety which the missionaries desired;
following church rules was of primary importance for such people to
ensure that they remained in this category.
The binary understanding of Christianity and, especially, what it
meant to be a Christian was accompanied by a related development
among Evangelical converts: community formation. Two major stages
can be distinguished in this process. Firstly, a distinct Christian culture
had emerged. This culture was not merely evident in the converts'
different life-style and customs. Evangelical religious beliefs had
become mostly a matter of cultural transmission between converts,
rather than of individual interpretations of the Bible or of the
missionaries' sermons. Initially, in the late 1830s in particular,
Christian notions had stimulated much discussion among the Basotho
who took them seriously enough to attend church. People were
particularly interested in the concepts of a universal god, sin,
conversion, the holy spirit, and in the reason for Christ's death.86 As
they grappled with these ideas, the Basotho displayed much individual
creativity in an effort to understand them, usually by means of
analogies and metaphors. By the mid-1850s, however, this creativity
had largely subsided. Instead, when individuals became interested in
Christianity, church members provided them with relatively fixed
metaphors, especially for these newly-interested people to express the
experience of conversion.87 Only a few of the earlier variety of
metaphors and perceptions had been retained, perhaps because the
Christians had found them most effective in convincing the missionaries that they were converted. These images and perceptions thus
became crystallised as cultural forms, which were available to
condition the experiences of later converts. Although the missionaries
85 Casalis, Les Bassoutos, p 318.
86 Arbousset, 19 Sept 1834, JME 10 (1835), pp 101 & 104.
87 Cochet, 29 Dec 1857, JME 33 (1858), p 166; Jousse, 28 Dec 1856, JME 31 (1857), pp 128±130.
20
Kleio XXXII, 2000
most probably played an important role in this process by showing
their preference for some forms rather than others, it largely resulted
from interactions within the congregations. This can be contrasted with
what occurred in Natal, where, on the contrary, the Kholwa were trying
to emulate the large European population around them.88
The process of community formation among Evangelical Christians
reached a second and final stage at the end of the nineteenth century.
Conversions of people who came from non-Christian families had by
then become increasingly rare in proportion to church membership.
Together with the incompatibility between the customs of converts and
non-converts ± particularly with respect to marriage ± this situation
resulted in Evangelical congregations being mostly composed of
second- or third-generation Christians. Church members, who had
always formed a group distinct from the rest of society by virtue of
their culture, thus became distinct with respect to heredity as well.
This strengthened their sense of a Christian, Evangelical, identity and
apparently resulted in fairly strong in-group loyalties: by the 1910s
young people who were the children of church members were scornful
of converts who came from a non-Christian background.89 By the
beginning of the twentieth century, Evangelical Christians had become
a fully-fledged community, with distinct lifestyle and customs, a
specific culture transmitted along hereditary lines, in-group loyalties,
as well as beliefs and understandings of Christian notions which,
although once varied and highly personal, had begun to crystallise half
a century earlier, and could therefore be considered to have become
tradition. Moreover, this community had become partly independent
from the missionaries in so far that its leaders ± ministers and
evangelists ± increasingly came from its ranks,90 and that the
Evangelical church was largely self-supporting financially.91 This made
Evangelical Basotho unique among Sotho Christians, because neither
Catholic nor Anglican converts were in this situation. The Catholic
church still relied very heavily on outside funding for its financing, and
it had no Sotho priests. The Anglican church was still much smaller.
This situation soon changed, however. In the following decades the
Catholic mission grew considerably ± mainly due to the opening of
88 Norman Etherington, Preachers, peasants and politics in southeast Africa: African Christian
communities in Natal, Pondoland and Zululand, 1835±1880 (London, 1978), pp 164±165.
89 Report of the missionary conference held at Hermon in April 1913, JME 88 (1913, 1st semester),
p 337.
90 Report of the missionary conference held in 1918, JME 93 (1918, 2nd semester), p 256; Daniel
Couve, 4 May 1925, JME 100 (1925, 2nd semester), pp 29±30.
91 JME 94 (1919, 1st semester), p 299.
21
Kleio XXXII, 2000
numerous schools, to its substantial financial resources and to the
chiefs' support. By the 1930s, it had already become comparable to the
Evangelical church, which never regained its former pre-eminence.92
92 Victor Ellenberger, Un sieÁcle de Missions au Lessouto, pp 422±427.
22
Kleio XXXII, 2000
Jane Carruthers: Lady Selborne township
Urban land claims in South Africa:
the case of Lady Selborne township,
Pretoria, Gauteng
Jane Carruthers
Racial discrimination and segregation have been integral components
of South African history since the arrival of white settlers. By conquest
and expansion, indigenous people were displaced. Despite this, the
legal system continued to allow the possibility, however remote, that
African landownership could expand. After 1913, however, the
situation altered because the Natives Land Act passed that year
drastically restricted African access to land. From that time onwards,
African landownership was increasingly curtailed, and by the time of
the Nationalist election victory in 1948, a plethora of legislation applied
racially discriminatory restrictions both in rural and urban areas.
But after that date, the government introduced more exhaustive and
meticulous racist legislation which impacted directly on the lives of all
'non-white' South Africans ± `Coloured', Indian, Malay, Chinese and
African. Thus,
although the Group Areas Act of 1950 did not introduce a new concept, it provided for
unprecedented state intervention in property rights and empowered the authorities to
impose a nationwide system of control which attempted to ensure that all South
Africans could live and trade only in segregated areas. To make segregation absolutely
enforceable, the Population Registration Act of 1950, introducing compulsory race
classification, was enacted. It was followed shortly afterwards by the Group Areas
Act, which the prime minister, Dr D F Malan, described as the `èssence of
apartheid'' .1
As succinctly expressed by Du PreÂ, the Group Areas Act
1
M Festenstein and C Pickard-Cambridge, Land and race: South Africa's Group Areas and Land
Acts (Johannesburg, 1987), p 6.
23
Kleio XXXII, 2000
did not just move people from one area to another ± this Act destroyed communities;
closed churches and schools; demolished houses, churches and school buildings and
closed sports grounds; uprooted congregations and dispersed church members, and
scattered families and friends ... Many of the old people never made it out of their
homes. They died before the furniture trucks arrived and the bulldozers rumbled in.2
The ideology underpinning the Act and its supporting legislation was
to separate totally every racial group from the other. Urban areas were
the particular target, for there were suburbs and townships in which
`mixed' groups of people resided. Blacks, whites and `Coloureds' were
not even to live close to one another, but had to be separated by wide
stretches of land. `Black spots' among white areas were anathema.
Under the Group Areas Act 41 of 1950 the task of investigating suitable
group areas was given to the Land Tenure Advisory Board (established
by Act 28 of 1946). Among the duties of the Board was to àdvise' the
Minister which races should inhabit which areas and which areas
should be declared for the habitation of certain races only. In 1955 this
Board was replaced by the Group Areas Development Board and its
powers were considerably extended. In time the Board came to be
charged with a real function to develop and establish separate group
areas, and it had the authority to expropriate properties (Section 16 of
Act 68 of 1955). Until 1965 the Group Areas Act was administered by
the Department of the Interior, thereafter the Department of Community Development was given that responsibility.
Alan Mabin has attempted to explore the genesis of the Group Areas
Act and to tease out some of the links between urban planning and
compulsory segregation. He investigates also the threats which the
Group Areas legislation held for urban autonomy in South Africa and
how the powers of local government were reduced. Massive central
government interference occurred in the 1950s and 1960s, upsetting
not only the traditional roles of various organs of state authority (for
instance cities, towns and provinces) but undermining also basic
human rights such as freedom of movement and ownership of property
among others.3
The purpose of this article is not to continue the debate on these
theoretical issues, but merely to expose the fate of the residents of Lady
Selborne, an African township near Pretoria, founded in 1905 and
destroyed by Group Areas legislation in the 1950s and 1960s. One of
2
R H du PreÂ, `The return of the dispossessed: claims to properties expropriated under the Group
Areas Act in Port Elizabeth in the 1960s and 1970s', unpublished paper presented to the South
African Historical Society conference, July 1997.
3
A Mabin, `Comprehensive segregation: The origins of the Group Areas Act and its planning
apparatuses', Journal of Southern African Studies 18,2 (1992), pp 405±429.
24
Kleio XXXII, 2000
the principles enshrined in the present South African constitution is the
possibility for the restitution for loss of rights in land.4 This
constitutional right is governed by the Restitution of Land Rights Act
(22 of 1994) and its amending Land Restitution and Reform Laws
Amendment Act (63 of 1997). The basic premise is that in order for a
claim to be considered by the especially established Land Claims Court
(which has the status of a High Court) there has to be proof that the
claimant was dispossessed of a right in land (without adequate
compensation) as a result of racial discrimination subsequent to 19
June 1913 (Natives Land Act). There is no legal redress for dispossession prior to that date. The claims process with regard to rural
areas is quite straightforward and a number of cases of restitution have
been adjudicated by the court. When it comes to urban land claims,
however, the issue is complex because so many of the suburban stands
which are being claimed have changed shape as a result of development: there are new houses and new owners. The problems raised are
intractable. Are the new owners and tenants (of some 50 years) now to
be dispossessed and the original owners permitted to return? How
much are these properties worth in monetary terms today? What was
the compensation of the time and was it adequate or not? The Truth and
Reconciliation Commission brought horrifying stories of personal
violence and torture to light. The texts of the more insidious and silent
destruction of communities, families and properties are no less
shocking.
The story of Lady Selborne is just one of these. The township is
unusual in the history of South African urbanisation in being an area in
which Africans could hold title to land. Lady Selborne was 292.78 ha in
extent and was situated against the south slope of the Magaliesberg
some 10 km north-west of Pretoria's city centre. The present suburb of
Suiderberg is on the site. Established in 1905 as a freehold township
for `coloured' people, Lady Selborne was `honoured'5 to be named after
Lady Beatrix Maud Cecil, whose husband had succeeded Lord Milner as
High Commissioner for South Africa and Governor of the Transvaal and
Orange River colonies until unification in 1910.
From the outset, the residents of Lady Selborne were politically
sophisticated and resisted the ever-enveloping tentacles of state control
over their daily lives. As segregation and apartheid tightened their grip
on Africans, they fought determinedly to retain their long-held status as
4
Section 25(7).
5
Transvaal Archives, Pretoria, (TA) GOV828 PS17/65/05, Le Fleur to Lord Selborne, 8 November
1905.
25
Kleio XXXII, 2000
landowners. It was a battle they eventually lost. Having established an
Àfrican' and communal identity in an urban environment, the
inhabitants of Lady Selborne were scattered in the early 1960s ± subdivided into various èthnicities' and forcibly removed to a variety of
remote `homelands', `Bantustans' and semi-rural townships ± as a
consequence of the Group Areas Act and related legislation.
Lady Selborne began when a group of `coloured' people organised a
syndicate to purchase Portion 16 (Portion of Portion A) of the farm
Zandfontein 317JR through their agents, Thomas le Fleur (chairman of
the South African Political Association) and C M de Vries. After transfer
into the name of De Vries on 26 September 1906, 440 plots were made
available at £11 each.6 Because of the target market, small stands and
low prices, on its establishment the Transvaal surveyor-general called
Lady Selborne `practically a location'.7 Lady Selborne did not develop
as an all-`coloured' (or mixed-race, as the term is understood today)
township and the racial composition was mixed with many Africans
and a few whites choosing to settle there. Almost from the very moment
of Lady Selborne's proclamation, African rights to urban land were
continuously curtailed in South Africa. But being exceptional and
regarded legally in the same way as a `white' suburban area, Lady
Selborne was not affected by the Natives (Urban Areas) Acts of 1923,
1937 and 1945 which restricted African residential rights in urban
areas. Thus Lady Selborne fell outside the ambit of a 'native location',
'native village' or any of the other formal racially-based components of
the South African urban landscape before the Second World War.
However, in 1936, when the Pact government introduced a new suite of
segregationist legislation, by Government Notice 946 of 3 July 1936,
Lady Selborne was approved as a `place of residence for natives' by the
Minister of Native Affairs.
Until the 1950s, Greater Pretoria was an urban conglomerate,
consisting of a number of autonomous local authorities. From 1905
until 1908 the residents of Lady Selborne managed their own affairs.
They established two committees: the Health Committee dealt with
matters pertaining to public health and sanitation, while the Village
Committee took care of public works. In 1908 Lady Selborne became
6
F J Nothling, `Die vestiging van gekleurdes in en om Pretoria, 1900±1914', Archives Year Book
for South African History, vol 1. (Pretoria 1984), pp 74±75; Pretoria News, 2 January 1905;
Deeds Office, Pretoria, Farm Register JR20 7026/06, J Booysen to C M de Vries.
7
TA GOV828 PS17/65/05, 21 November 1905.
26
Kleio XXXII, 2000
part of the Pretoria Suburbs Health Committee8 but retained the
organisational structure of two residents' committees. In 1912, when
the Innesdale Town Council came into being, the African residents of
Lady Selborne at first wanted to maintain their separate existence, but
joined Innesdale when the new local authority agreed to take over
responsibility for sanitation and other health services. In consequence,
the Lady Selborne Health Committee was disbanded.
However, the Village Committee continued to exist and its relationship with the Innesdale authorities was generally amicable.9 But in the
1920s Lady Selborne made a number of unsuccessful applications to be
granted its own independent Village Board or Health Committee.10
Perhaps in anticipation of this, in 1925 the boundaries of Innesdale
were altered to exclude Lady Selborne (Administrator's Proclamation
255 of 16 June 1925) and until 1928 the township was controlled by
the Daspoort Health Committee on the same basis as the Innesdale
arrangement. In 1928 the Daspoort Health Committee was converted
into the Hercules Village Council and in 1931 Hercules was upgraded to
a Town Council, of which Lady Selborne remained part.11 At the time of
this upgrading to separate municipal status,12 the support of Lady
Selborne was required.
In order to obtain this backing, Hercules promised to reduce the cost
of the sanitation service (because the ground was unsuitable for
constructing septic tanks and french drains there was a nightsoil and
waste water collection service) and Lady Selborne joined the new local
authority. For a time this was a smooth association and regular
meetings were held when Lady Selborne's interests were affected.
However, when Hercules raised sanitation costs (which the working
class Africans could ill afford), the affiliation became strained; there
was less contact and within a year or two communication had ceased.13
Lady Selborne's grievances against Hercules mounted because the
African township had no channels for institutionalised authority or
representation. It was in an anomalous position. Although better off
than other African urban areas because people held title to their land,
residents had no voice in their local government. Because Africans
could neither vote for, nor hold office in, white local authorities in the
8 R C de Jong, `The need for total removal': an exploratory survey of the urbanisation of Africans in
Pretoria, with particular emphasis on the townships that disappeared during this process',
Research by the National Cultural History Museum, 4 (1995), p 61.
9 Central Archives, Pretoria (CA) NTS4552 928/313, vol 3.
10 CA TES4134 19/269 Report of the Departmental Committee, 1949, pp 61±63.
12 CA NTS4551 928/313, vol 1.
13 De Jong, `The urbanisation of Africans in Pretoria', p 61.
27
Kleio XXXII, 2000
Transvaal, Lady Selborne had no representation within Hercules
although it paid rates to the municipality. Nor did it have the
administrative status or structures of a 'native' area in terms of any
legislation. Without democratic recourse, Lady Selborne's residents
believed that they were being exploited and that their rates were being
used to benefit the small number of white Afrikaner ± also working
class ± residents of Hercules. Initially there was a stalemate, then
vociferous complaints surfaced and matters eventually came to a head
in 1940.
Attempts were made to resolve the impasse. A public meeting was
held in Lady Selborne on 29 November 1940; a deputation from Lady
Selborne visited the Acting-Secretary of Native Affairs on 11 January
1941, there was a meeting with the Hercules council (27 January 1941)
and a round-table conference ± which included Native Senator J D
Rheinallt Jones ± also took place. During these discussions, Hercules
suggested that Lady Selborne be administered as a 'native' urban area
and have a governing Advisory Board. But this would have meant that
the township would suffer the same restrictions as a `location' and
residents opposed this. Being anxious to retain its current status, Lady
Selborne wanted either to be excised from Hercules as its own
municipality or to become a separate ward within Hercules with rights
equal to the others.14
Because the case of Lady Selborne was so exceptional and the rights
of urban Africans so circumscribed, the government could not comply
in law with any of Lady Selborne's demands, and despite the attempts
at rapprochement, the relationship between the suburb and Hercules
worsened. The town council temporarily established a Native Affairs
Department to liaise with Lady Selborne, but the experiment was a
failure.15 In the event, on 1 May 1949 Hercules disappeared as a
separate local authority and became part of the city of Pretoria.16 When
this took place, the City Council of Pretoria came to an agreement with
Hercules that their African neighbours in Lady Selborne would be
removed.17
The date is significant. In 1949 the National Party government was
new, having been narrowly elected to power the previous year, and it
is highly likely that the agreement between the Pretoria City Council
and Hercules to destroy Lady Selborne formed part of the political
trade-offs of the time. Pretoria promised Hercules that it would take
14 CA NTS4551 928/313, vol 1.
15 CA NTS4552 928/313, vol 3.
17 Debates of the House of Assembly, 16 April 1956, cols 3619±3630.
28
Kleio XXXII, 2000
steps to eliminate overcrowding in Lady Selborne (instead of the
optimum 6 000 or 7 000 people, there were some 30 000) and to
improve sanitation, recreation and social welfare provisions. There
was also a pledge to reduce the èxcessive land values' in Lady
Selborne, but essentially the deal was that ìt will be the endeavour of
the Pretoria City Council to remove the said township'.18 Lady
Selborne's land values were indeed very high owing to the suburb's
desirable location close to the centre of Pretoria and the ability of
owners to rent accommodation extremely profitably. The Departmental
Committee appointed in 1947 to consider a number of African urban
settlements noted that while values in Lady Selborne were £500 per
stand, prices in the adjoining Èuropean' areas were only £90 to £250.
In 1949 the average municipal valuation of a sub-divided stand in Lady
Selborne was £235. Naturally, these properties were rated in terms of
their municipal valuation, thus fuelling Lady Selborne's contention that
it received few services and little attention considering the high rates
owners paid to the local authority.19
In passing, it is worth recording that not only were the residents of
Lady Selborne being exploited by their local authority, but there are
large numbers of recorded instances of overcharging on bond rates, and
of dealings with unscrupulous money-lenders. A consequence of the high
bond rates was that once Lady Selborne residents received payment for
their properties after expropriation or sale in the 1960s, much of the
compensation money was spent on repaying outstanding bonds. Many of
Lady Selborne's landlords depended on their properties for their
livelihood and financial exploitation was extremely detrimental.20
Pressure for urban accommodation was so great that rents in Lady
Selborne were extremely high. While the average African rent in Pretoria
in 1944 was £1/8/0, in Lady Selborne it was £2/6/0. At the time, the
average family income in Lady Selborne was £9/6/6 and the essential
minimum expenditure per family was calculated at £13/11/8.21
Because accommodation close to employment opportunities was so
difficult to find, those urban areas in which Africans were legally
allowed to reside soon became overcrowded and insanitary.22 As a
result of ongoing subdivisions and particularly the influx of people
18 18 CA TES4134 19/269 Report of the Departmental Committee, 1949, pp 64±65.
20 CA NTS4551 928/313 vol 1; Vols 3 and 4 contain a list of every property, owner, valuation and
bond in the mid-1950s.
21 M R Blair, `Selected budgets', Race Relations 14(4), pp 164±165.
22 D Gelderblom, and P Kok, Urbanisation: South Africa's challenge. Vol 1: Dynamics (Pretoria,
1994), p 89.
29
Kleio XXXII, 2000
during the Second World War, by the mid-1950s there were more than
1 600 stands in Lady Selborne (from an original 440), almost all of
which were owned by Africans. In the 1950s it was estimated that the
population was between 40 000 and 50 000, including approximately
50 whites, 240 Indians and 1 000 `coloureds'.23 By 1960 there were
apparently more than 30 people living on each stand. Most people lived
in a single room in six-roomed houses, the back-yards of which were
fringed by rows of shacks providing further accommodation.
The land claims procedure has elicited details about the kind of
accommodation which existed in Lady Selborne. Many people had large
houses, consisting of six or eight rooms. This allowed space for family
life and children often had their own bedrooms. Outhouses for tenants
were common, claimants record having up to 21 rooms in the yard, as
were garages and covered verandas. Apart from generating income
through letting rooms, most claims also tell of selling food to make
more money. Although the population density was extremely high and
conditions no doubt insanitary (sewage was still in the form of pails and
water obtained mainly from on-site wells) it does not appear that Lady
Selborne was as overcrowded as a modern urban African township or
squatter camp.
The residents of Lady Selborne had a strong sense of community.
Approximately ten thousand children attended Lady Selborne's ten
primary schools and two high schools.24 Each year there was a
commemoration of the sinking, in February 1917 in the English
Channel, of the Mendi, a South African troop ship carrying African
soldiers. Funds were raised for bursaries to send promising Lady
Selborne students to further their education at Fort Hare. There were a
number of churches and clinics, most of them ± like the schools ± run by
churches and missionary societies. There was an organised political
culture. Sefaka M Makgatho, a teacher, newspaper proprietor and
estate agent who lived in Lady Selborne, was a founder member of the
Transvaal Native Congress, a forerunner of the African National
Congress (ANC). From 1917 to 1924 Makgatho presided over the ANC
and led two local civil disobedience campaigns. On 16 December 1930
Lady Selborne was prominent in responding to a Communist Party call
for `pass' burnings. Throughout the 1930s and 1940s Lady Selborne
was the stronghold of the ANC in Pretoria.25 After a period of inactivity,
23 M Horrell, The Group Areas Act: its effect on human beings (Johannesburg 1956), p 47; CA
NTS4552 928/313 vol 4.
24 T Lodge, `Political organisations in Pretoria's African townships' in B Bozzoli (ed), Class,
community and conflict: South African perspectives (Johannesburg, 1987), p 401.
25 Lodge, `Political organisations', pp 402±407.
30
Kleio XXXII, 2000
in 1955 the ANC was revived in Lady Selborne as the now entrenched
National Party began to implement the various strands of its apartheid
policy.
Although the Group Areas legislation was extremely sinister, initially
Lady Selborne was unaffected because this law did not apply to any
designated 'native area'. (The Group Areas Act 41 of 1950, Section 3.3.c,
specifically excluded 'native areas' as defined in the Native Trust and
Land Act 18 of 1936 and the Natives (Urban Areas) Consolidation Act 25 of
1945.) However, when it became apparent that loopholes in the law (Lady
Selborne was one example) thwarted the implementation of the Group
Areas Act, these were systematically closed by amending legislation. In
addition, the policy of establishing `homelands' or `Bantustans' for the
various African èthnic groups' impacted on Lady Selborne. Dedicated to
the destruction of Lady Selborne even before the Group Areas legislation
was passed, the City Council of Pretoria (unlike Johannesburg and a
number of other municipalities) actively co-operated with the organs of
the central government to end the suburb's existence and in this way Lady
Selborne was increasingly threatened. In the unsettled atmosphere of
insecurity over land tenure, in addition to growing opposition to escalating
state control, there was extreme concern regarding employment, because
the government had instituted apartheid legislation which linked urban
residential rights to employment.
With the prospect of eviction and the curtailment of personal liberty,
political agitation in Lady Selborne grew. In the 1950s and early 1960s
Lady Selborne was an important site of urban resistance and the
government's stratagems to include the suburb within the ambit of
Group Areas legislation should also be seen as a way of crushing
African defiance of apartheid and state intervention generally. In
response, ANC membership accelerated, and later, the Pan African
Congress gained a following. In 1954 a `Resist Apartheid Campaign'
was launched and in 1956 and 1957 the ANC was active in mobilising
women's anti-pass protests; the following year Lady Selborne enthusiastically joined the bus boycott; in 1959 there were vociferous
protests against the pass laws and in 1961 a significant anti-republic
stay-away was arranged. Throughout this period, unprovoked police
raids occurred and meetings were disrupted by force of arms.26 The
volatile situation which resulted throughout the 1950s encouraged
gangsterism and protest. Violence was a common occurrence.27
26 University of the Witwatersrand, Manuscript Collection, Ballinger Papers, A410 B7.2.5.33;
C2.1.48; CA SAP550 15/7/57.
27 Lodge, `Political organisations', pp 407±413.
31
Kleio XXXII, 2000
These events should be seen against the background of expanding
white Pretoria and the active co-operation of the City Council with the
central government in applying Group Areas legislation. In the post-war
economy of the 1950s, Lady Selborne was no longer isolated and was
becoming engulfed by white (principally Afrikaner) working-class
suburbs such as Hercules. As Horrell explains: Àccording to the
tragically usual pattern, Europeans living in these [neighbouring] areas
are using the machinery of the Group Areas Act to attempt to have the
Non-Whites removed'.28
The process of dispossessing freehold landowners from Lady
Selborne proceeded year by year. On 23 October 1953, Dr H F
Verwoerd, then Minister of Native Affairs, outlined a schedule to
eliminate ùndesirable' African settlements. While the first targets
would be African squatters, he made it clear that dispossession of
African landowners would follow.29 The following year, the Natives
Resettlement Act No 19 provided for the removal of `Bantu' from any
area in the magisterial district of Johannesburg or an adjoining
magisterial district and their settlement elsewhere. Hereafter, the
threat to re-zone Lady Selborne was a reality as its population could be
relocated at any time by proclamation. More was to follow. In 1955 the
Natives (Urban Areas) Amendment Act 16 in Section 3 empowered the
government to abolish African freehold rights, but referred to these as
being specifically in a `location', a 'native village' or a 'native hostel'.
Lady Selborne, as a `place of residence for natives' rather than any of
the categories above, was actually excluded, although this was not
appreciated at the time.
In June 1955, in the belief that it had the power to do so, the Group
Areas Board began the process of transferring Lady Selborne to whites
and called for objections against this. Unanimous opposition came from
Lady Selborne residents and their white liberal allies, expressed at a
meeting on 31 May 1955. Firstly, the immense physical effort in
establishing Lady Selborne was mentioned. From being a water-logged
marsh, it was òne of the best native townships in South Africa' and
contained `some of the finest houses in Pretoria'. This had been
accomplished through `hard labour, toil, sweat and almost blood'.
Secondly, it was the encroachment of the white suburbs which was to
blame, not the prior existence of Lady Selborne. `We are being exposed
to a great humiliating injustice', the people claimed. In addition, there
were good relationships within the township and outside. These should
28 Horrell, Group Areas Act, pp 47±48.
29 CA NTS6485 87/313(S)(5); De Jong, pp 42±43.
32
Kleio XXXII, 2000
not be destroyed, but instead, `fostered and nursed for the general good
of all freedom and peace-loving South Africans'. Then, removal would
be a breach of faith and a blight on the memory of Lady Selborne, à
magnanimous and great daughter of South Africa'. Removal would be
morally wrong. There were practical reasons as well. Transport to
Pretoria was already difficult and removal further out would worsen
the situation, with a negative effect on worker productivity.30
Three months later, in September 1955, the question of turning Lady
Selborne into a white area was discussed at a high-level meeting
between the Pretoria City Council and Dr H F Verwoerd and Dr W M
Eiselen, the Minister and Secretary for Native Affairs respectively. In
terms of Group Areas legislation, each municipality was made
responsible to the national government for the identification and
planning of group areas within its area of jurisdiction, and getting rid of
Lady Selborne was therefore Pretoria's responsibility. But the city
needed help from the central government in passing the necessary
legislation ± for legally, at that time, Lady Selborne was well
entrenched.31 At this meeting Verwoerd explained that there was no
legal difficulty in getting rid of tenants and squatters; it was the
landowners who could not be as easily dislodged. However, he assured
the Pretoria Council that he would find a way.32 Soon rumours about
this meeting came to the ears of the Lady Selborne Village Committee. A
public meeting was held on 10 October and on 28 October a letter to the
Town Clerk of Pretoria from Committee Chairman S P Makgathlo asked
for detailed reasons why Lady Selborne had to be removed, what would
happen to freehold rights, and what compensation would be payable.33
No response is on file.
On 1 February 1955 the Group Areas Development Act 69
commenced. This established a Group Areas Development Board to
assist disqualified persons to dispose of their properties and to reestablish themselves elsewhere, and to co-operate with local authorities in developing new townships for displaced people. By February
1956, the Pretoria City Council had made its decision on racial zoning
and reported to the Group Areas Board. The die was cast. Pretoria was
to become an all-white city and Lady Selborne would be re-zoned for
white occupation. But the legal obstacles had not yet been removed by
the central government and legal counsel pointed out that Lady
Selborne fell outside the scope of the Group Areas Act, with the
30 CA NTS6485 87/313(S)(5); De Jong, pp 42±43.
31 G H Pirie, Ùrban population removals in South Africa', Geography 68, 4 (1983), p 347.
32 CA NTS4552 928/313.
33 CA NTS4552 928/313 vol 4.
33
Kleio XXXII, 2000
consequence that the Group Areas Board thus had no power or
authority over it. In terms of Section 3.c of the Act, no area which
included whole, or in part, a `location', African `village' or `hostel' or
urban area approved for the `residence of Africans' ± ie Lady Selborne
which had held this status since 1936 ± could be legally included in a
`group area'. Lady Selborne had won a victory in that the Group Areas
Board was forced to adjourn, under protest that no planning of Pretoria
could be done without including Lady Selborne.34
But Parliament acted quickly to overcome the legal obstruction
presented by Lady Selborne, and two months later passed a short Act
designed specifically to bring Lady Selborne within the ambit of the
Group Areas Act 41 of 1950 by providing that the Act could apply to an
area approved for the `residence of natives'.35 In debating the issue, the
Minister of the Interior confirmed that `[a]ll this Bill is doing is to
empower us to take Lady Selborne into consideration in connection
with the planning of group areas in Pretoria'. After that, the Council
moved quickly and in March 1956 a survey of all property owners in
Lady Selborne was made and a schedule drawn up so that properties
could be identified, valuations determined and compensation settled.36
As though it were not sufficient a hardship to be deprived of home and
community, the Bantu (Prohibition of Interdicts) Act 64 of 1956 made
every personal situation worse. In terms hereof, when ordered to be
removed, no African could initiate an interdict or any other legal
process for the stay or suspension of such removal.
On 19 June 1956 at a Group Areas Board committee meeting, Dr W F
Nkomo wanted to know details about what kind of formal, compensatory freehold rights people evicted from Lady Selborne would receive.
In terms of the legislation, owners were entitled to similar rights
elsewhere, but Nkomo could get no answers about place or conditions
of title.37 Proclamations 150 and 151 of 6 June 1958, Government
Gazette 6067 finalised the group areas position in urban Pretoria by
decreeing that while some suburbs were gazetted for immediate white
ownership and occupation (ie within one year), Lady Selborne was
included in the list ± section (n) ± but without a given time-frame. There
seemed to be no definitive plan for Lady Selborne and residents
remained in limbo.
On 12 June 1959 the last legal hurdle to destroying Lady Selborne
was overcome with the publication of Government Notice 889
34 Horrell, Group Areas Act p 48; Debates of the House of Assembly, 16 April 1956.
35 Group Areas Amendment Act 29 of 1956; Debates of the House of Assembly, 16 April 1956, cols
3619±3630.
36 CA NTS4552 928/313 vol 4; Schedule of all Lady Selborne landowners vol 4, 2 March 1956.
37 CA NTS4551 928/313 vol 2.
34
Kleio XXXII, 2000
(Government Gazette 6235) which repealed Government Notice 946 of
1936. This meant that Lady Selborne was no longer defined as an area
approved for the `residence of natives' in terms of Section 9.2.h of the
Natives (Urban Areas) Consolidation Act 25 of 1945. Until then,
Africans in Lady Selborne required approval from the Minister of Bantu
Administration and Development in order to sell their properties to
whites (Article 8.1 of Act 29 of 1945). If each stand-owner in Lady
Selborne had done so, this would have created administrative chaos.38
Also in 1959 came the Promotion of Bantu Self-Government Act 46,
which decreed that black South Africans were not a homogeneous
group of people, but belonged to eight separate national units on the
basis of language and culture. The residents of Lady Selborne, who had
bonded into a suburban community over fifty years, were surveyed by
ethnic group so that they could be separated from each other and
obliged to live in various `homelands'. In 1950 there were 1 000 Sotho
(Northern Sotho, Tswana and Southern Sotho), 321 Nguni, 5 Venda,
167 Shangaan, 125 `Coloured', 97 whites and 6 Indians, who among
them owned 1 696 stands.39 This legislation had the effect that it
became illegal to remove the residents of Lady Selborne as a community
en bloc to another area. They would have to be atomised into their
ethnic groups and accordingly reside in certain areas designated for
that ethnic group.
Lady Selborne's residents and supporters pursued every avenue to
preserve the suburb and its lifestyle. In 1960 they made a last-ditch
stand. In July a Committee of Investigation (Group Areas Board) was
appointed to discuss Lady Selborne40 and objections were called for.
They were vehement. On 5 August, the Lady Selborne Village
Committee protested against the loss of freehold title, property and
improvements and the financial hardship which would follow. It
pointed out the township's robust community life, its easy access to
employment and city amenities and the uncertainty because no details
of where evicted people would be moved to had yet been forthcoming.41
The Black Sash took up the cause, arguing on 10 August 1960 that
ethnic divisions were repugnant, that fairness and justice were
lacking.42 A day later the Pretoria Action Council for Human Rights
added its voice, also dismayed by the violation of fundamental human
rights, the wanton destruction of homes and property and the financial
38 CA NTS4551 928/313, vol 2, 21 and 23 January 1959; CA NTS4565 1076/313.
39 CA NTS4551 928/313, vol 2, 12 June 1959.
40 Transvaal Archives (TA) TRB 2/1/12 4/5/14; Transvaler, 29 July 1960.
41 CA BEP138 G7/137/12.
42 CA BEP138 G7/137/12.
35
Kleio XXXII, 2000
loss which would ensue. The Council also warned that if the evictions
went ahead, there would be resentment against authority and the
`white man' owing to the `theft of the most precious possession' ± legal
title to land.43 The Methodist Church, the Progressive Party and the
Pretoria and District Coloured Vigilance Association made submissions
in similar vein.44
With these protests before it, in November 1960 the Group Areas
Board's Committee of Investigation met. Dr G Lowen, counsel for Lady
Selborne, argued that Lady Selborne's removal on account of its being
overcrowded or unhealthy were `hypocritical red herrings'; the real
intention was to remove freehold title to land from Africans in Pretoria.
Doing so, he warned, would arouse feelings of ùtter despair,
despondency and bitterness in the people of Lady Selborne'.45 The
government was unmoved.
The year 1961 was a time of crisis for Lady Selborne. Legal channels
were becoming exhausted and other avenues to halt what seemed to be
the inexorable annihilation had to be found. As a last resort, in February,
the Liberal Party arranged to petition Mr Dag Hammerskjoeld,
Secretary-General of the United Nations, to ask the South African
government to abandon its racist plans to turn Lady Selborne into a
white township.46
Lady Selborne's fate was sealed in a report dated 5 September 1961
to the Minister of Community Development from the Secretary, J J
Marais. He strongly recommended that, with immediate effect, Lady
Selborne (and Eastwood and Highlands) be proclaimed full white
suburbs. He felt that the matter was proceeding too slowly and needed
to be brought to finality. Increasingly, Lady Selborne was an
unacceptable `black spot' in Pretoria's rapid western expansion, and
until it was removed and all group areas properly in operation, the City
Council of Pretoria could neither plan nor budget adequately.
Alternative accommodation was becoming available. Indians and
Chinese people were catered for, and, for Africans, the Bantustan of
Ga-Rankuwa (32 km north of Pretoria) was already in a position to
receive them. There they could own land and build houses and GaRankuwa was close to a planned `border industry' which would provide
employment. The City Council had suitable housing available for
43 CA BEP138 G7/137/12.
44 CA BEP138 G7/137/12.
45 Rand Daily Mail, 4 November 1960.
46 Rand Daily Mail, 15 February 1961.
36
Kleio XXXII, 2000
tenants in Atteridgeville and Vlakfontein (Mamelodi). Marais argued in
addition that the government needed to make an example of Lady
Selborne to show that it was in earnest about its policy of separate
residential areas for different population groups.47 But the government
also needed to show that it would not be intimidated by outside
interference. Marais was concerned about the Liberal Party's 5 000signature petition which was on its way to the United Nations with the
request that South Africa be instructed to give up its plans for Lady
Selborne. Quickly, therefore, Lady Selborne's removal had to be a fait
accompli before the United Nations got involved.48
Proclamation 104 of 20 October 1961 (Government Gazette 98)
followed swiftly. It read that Lady Selborne, as defined in paragraph (a)
of the Schedule, `shall, as from the date of publication hereof, be [an
area] of occupation and ownership by members of the White group and
proclamation 150 of 1958 is amended accordingly'. This proclamation
dealt the final blow to the landowners of Lady Selborne and
expropriation and sales in terms of the legislation took place within
the next few years.
All the properties in Lady Selborne were acquired by the City Council of
Pretoria. The title deeds which record the dispossession of Lady
Selborne's residents fall into two broad categories: expropriation and
sale. Properties were expropriated in terms of Section 24 of the Group
Areas Development Act 69 of 1955 and Section 38 of the Community
Development Act 3 of 1966. As far as sales were concerned, some owners
negotiated with the City Council of Pretoria. While it could be argued that
strictly legally these sales were `voluntary', they can all also be considered
ènforced' in that the seller was not selling in a free market. He/she/they
had no option but to sell to the Council in terms of its pre-emptive rights in
this regard, in terms of Section 20 of Act 69 of 1955, and in terms of the
Delegation Agreement with the Group Areas Development Board first
signed in 1958. Other sales were instigated by the Council in terms of
Section 12.1.c.i which empowered the Council (as agent of the Board),
with the approval of the Minister either generally or specifically, `to
acquire by purchase, exchange or otherwise any immovable property
whether situated in a group area or elsewhere'. These sales can also not be
47 The wording is: `Van die grootste belang is egter die feit dat deurmekaarboerdery in hierdie
gebied op grootskaal heers. Proklamering as volle Blanke groepsgebiede op hierdie tydstip sal die
uitwerking heÃ dat die Regering dit erns is met sy beleid om afsonderlike woongebiede vir die
verskillende bevolkingsgroepe te bewerkstellig.'
48 CA BEP138 G7/137/12.
37
Kleio XXXII, 2000
considered `voluntary'; the only option was expropriation under possibly
more disadvantageous conditions.
The majority of properties changed hands between 1962 and 1969.
By 1973, the process was completed. It is impossible to trace what
happened to each owner after eviction from Lady Selborne. No doubt
some removed themselves as soon as the transfer of property had been
concluded, while others hung on until the last minute and the
bulldozers and police moved in. In addition to financial hardship, the
community spirit, political voice, and social facilities by way of
hospitals, churches and schools were also obliterated. Neighbours were
scattered far from one another and the voice of urban dissent faded
away. The community of Lady Selborne was not moved as a group.
Tenants acquired council and other housing (or site-and-service)
wherever this was available. If of Sotho (or Tswana) 'nationality', the
dispossessed were permitted to purchase land in Ga-Rankuwa; if not,
they had to rent whatever was available in one of the municipal
locations around Pretoria, such as Atteridgeville, Saulsville or
Vlakfontein (Mamelodi).49 Indians were obliged to move to Laudium
or another Ìndian group area'; `Coloureds' to Eersterus or other
`Coloured group areas'. Even where they were entitled to rights of
ownership, many people did not have the money available after
repaying their outstanding bonds. To add to the misery, many Lady
Selborne residents were unaware of the exact conditions of their
dispossession. Most of the population was not well educated and,
ignorant of the law, did not have detailed information about their
rights. They accepted cash for their properties, repaid their bonds and
had very little left to invest in any kind of property elsewhere.
Although brutally executed by means of bulldozers, dogs and police the
evacuations from Lady Selborne were not energetically contested. A
decade of struggle had taken its toll. The dominant emotion among
residents was fear, particularly by the old (who lost their ability to raise
income from renting accommodation) and the young (who lost their right
to employment in Pretoria).50 Accommodation for the evicted was
desperately insufficient; there was a general shortage of housing around
Pretoria and in Ga-Rankuwa, because only in November 1961 did the
construction of any houses begin there.51 All the new accommodation for
49 CA NTS4551 928/313, vol 2; CA BEP138, 22 June 1961.
50 Lodge, `Political Organisations', p 411.
38
Kleio XXXII, 2000
evicted residents was far smaller than that they had enjoyed at Lady
Selborne. And once out of the Pretoria municipal area, Africans were at
the mercy of the Department of Bantu Administration.52
Obtaining suitable housing was only part of the problem of eviction.
No designated African, `Coloured' or Indian residential area was as
close to Pretoria as was Lady Selborne. Even when the conditions of
property acquisition were reasonable, people were forced to live much
further away from their places of work and transport costs were far
higher.53 Disposable income, never adequate, was reduced still further.
Ga-Rankuwa was a considerable distance on the north side of the
Magaliesberg, and the townships which served Pretoria, such as
Mamelodi, away on the east. People were poorer because of the higher
costs involved in getting to work and they experienced more difficulties
in finding employment. Those who took advantage of purchasing
property in Ga-Rankuwa found themselves further disadvantaged in
1972 when Bophuthatswana become ìndependent' and only Tswana
citizens could hold title to property.
Feelings of humiliation and degradation as a result of being forced to
move were common. Neighbours were split into different ethnic groups,
confusion and bitterness resulted. The Land Claims procedure has
exposed individual narratives of hardship and despair. Claimants tell of
being `beaten by the police because we did not want to move to an
unknown destination', of having to abandon the larger items of furniture,
`leave fences, trees, rockeries, fowl runs, electricity ... and go to a rural
area with no amenities ... to be robbed of a title deed which my Daddy and
mother worked very hard for in their lifetime, is not only sad but a
traumatic experience'. Many deaths occurred after removal, people ±
particularly the elderly ± gave up hope. Some committed suicide. Families
were damaged in other ways too, often the lack of privacy in the small
`match-box' alternative housing caused friction. Family members were
scattered. Schooling was disrupted. Humiliated by being removed in
rubbish carts, ordered about by young white officials, `we were
spiritually broken down' ... `the nightmare of apartheid planners plunged
us into poverty, homelessness and broke my elderly parents'; `bulldozers,
armed policemen with dogs turned us into refugees'. And the conseÐÐÐÐÐÐÐÐÐÐÐ
52 The Pretoria News, 22 June 1961.
53 The Pretoria News, 22 June 1961.
39
Kleio XXXII, 2000
quence, `the creation of modern slum areas, infested with crime, drug
traffic, gang warfare, poor or no education ...'
Lady Selborne was the largest Group Areas dispossession project in
the Pretoria area. By taking over the township, the City Council gained
what it thought would be valuable suburban land (worth £2 063 925 in
1960)54 and presumably appeased the white Afrikaner ratepayers of
Hercules who had been promised the destruction of Lady Selborne
more than a decade earlier. The victory, however, must in some
respects have been a hollow one, for only in the mid-1970s was the
Council able to take transfer of the whole township of Lady Selborne
and start to redevelop it. Lady Selborne began anew as the much
smaller white suburb of `Suiderberg'. With every African-owned
dwelling razed to the ground, it was as though Lady Selborne had
never existed. The layout of the township was totally obliterated and
the old design of square blocks was replaced by crescents and cul-desacs; traditional street names such as Le Fleur, Bulawayo, Maraba and
Liberty, were replaced by streets named after Boer victories in the
Anglo-Boer War, such as Belmont, Bergendal and Sannaspos. Suiderberg was a failure initially. It took many years before whites were able
to settle there and it remains sparsely populated.
Not only did an African township in Pretoria disappear with Lady
Selborne, but the scattering of its residents emasculated the growing
African political coherence and opposition which had once been in
evidence. After the banning of the ANC and other restrictions on African
political activity, the vital political culture of Lady Selborne was either
dissipated or went underground. The African working class people of
Pretoria ± some of whom were unaware of their èthnic' origins ± were
strewn into bleak, treeless `homelands' and municipal townships.55
Racial tension and prejudice were increased, housing and transport
deficiencies were exacerbated and cumbersome and expensive state
administration was brought into being.56
54 CA LDE3952 TALG 21-4-3.
55 Festenstein and Pickard-Cambridge, Land and race pp 20±22; Horrell, Group Areas Act pp 152±
153.
56 See also: A J Christopher, Àpartheid and urban segregation levels in South Africa', Urban
Studies 27, 3 (1990) pp 421±440; A J Christopher, `Before group areas: urban segregation in
South Africa in 1951', South African Geographer 18, 1±2 (1990/1), pp 85±96; A J Christopher,
`Changing patterns of group-area proclamations in South Africa, 1950±1989', Political
Geography Quarterly 10, 3 (1991), pp 240±253; A J Christopher, Ùrban segregation levels in
South African under apartheid', Sociology and Social Research 75, 2 (1991), pp 89±94;
40
Kleio XXXII, 2000
The Land Restitution process offers former Lady Selborne residents
the opportunity to claim compensation for their properties. Many of the
original residents have, of course, died but their heirs can claim. Legal
proof of inheritance has to be provided, by way of marriage or birth
certificates, death certificates and wills (or affidavits), as does evidence
of how many claimants there are and whether siblings all agree to the
procedures. For a suburb like Lady Selborne, there are full records in
the Deeds Office and copies of title deeds have to be provided. These
administrative details take time; many people have lost touch with
other family members and, indeed, there are instances where the
restitution procedure has divided families rather than uniting them,
some feeling that matters should be left well alone, while others are
anxious to redress inequities and, by the same token, obtain
compensation from the state which would enable them to have a start
in life. Many people would like compensation by way of money, others
would be happy with preferential treatment when it came to housing
elsewhere, others want to return to their own homes in Lady Selborne
and have the present owners evicted, in the same way as was their fate
in the 1960s. The Land Claims Court has stated that it would prefer to
deal with communities as a whole in these cases (ie all of Lady
Selborne, rather than individuals), so there are more delays as every
last document is collected by claimants before the Court will consider
the claims. Moreover, claims have to appear in the Government Gazette
and a time frame for objections has to be set. Restitution is not
therefore an easy option, but it enables the dispossessed not only to
have a chance of redressing the ills of the past, but also gives the
community of a small and forgotten suburb the opportunity to tell their
story.
H Cluver, Survey of Lady Selborne (Johannesburg, 1954); T R H Davenport, Àfrican townsmen?
South African Natives (Urban Areas) legislation through the years', African Affairs 68, 271
(1969), pp 95±109; L R Dison and I Mohamed, Group Areas and their development, including
land tenure and occupation (Durban, (1960); A Lemon (ed), Homes apart: South Africa's
segregated cities (Bloomington, 1991); T Lodge, Black politics in South Africa since 1945
(Johannesburg, 1983); A Mabin, `Comprehensive segregation: the origins of the Group Areas Act
and its planning apparatuses', Journal of Southern African Studies, 18, 2 (1992), pp 405±429; P
Maylam, Èxplaining the apartheid city: 20 years of South African urban historiography',
Journal of Southern African Studies, 21, 1 (1995), pp 19±38; C Murray and C O'Regan (eds), No
place to rest: forced removals and the law in South Africa (Cape Town, 1990); A Odendaal,
Black protest politics in South Africa to 1912 (1984); L Platzky and C Walker, The surplus
people: forced removals in South Africa (Johannesburg, 1985); J Robinson, Àdministrative
strategies and political power in South Africa's black townships 1930±1960', Urban Forum 2
(1991), pp 63±77; P Smit, and J J Booysen Swart verstedeliking: proses, patroon en strategie
(Pretoria, 1981); D M Smith (ed), The apartheid city and beyond: urbanization and social
change in South Africa (Johannesburg, 1992); E Unterhalter, Forced removal: the division,
segregation and control of the people of South Africa (London, 1987).
41
Kleio XXXII, 2000
J C H Grobler: Kruger and Grobler
`He possessed intimate access to the
President': Piet Grobler,
Kruger's confidant 1
J C H Grobler
Introduction
In this article the relationship between P G W (Piet) Grobler and
President Kruger is discussed. The quotation in the title is from the
work Why Kruger made war by John Buttery, which appeared in 1900.
Buttery, the senior assistant editor of the Standard and Diggers' News
in the two years immediately preceding the Anglo-Boer War (1899±
1902) was well known to the president's inner circle. As representative
of this semi-official government mouthpiece (the newspaper was
subsidised by the Transvaal government as a counter to the other
English language, pro-imperialist newspapers like The Star), Buttery
had access to influential people in government circles. Despite this,
Buttery was by no means a Boer supporter and he placed the blame for
the war squarely on the shoulders of the Boer leaders.2 His objective
perception of the relatively unknown Piet Grobler is illuminating,
particularly as regards Grobler's dealings with Kruger. The remarkable
relationship of confidentiality between the president and Grobler is put
under scrutiny in this article, because Grobler's achievements were due
in large measure to Kruger's support. Indeed, Grobler's fortunes were
very closely linked to those of the president. The article does not aim to
focus on Grobler's career as Under State Secretary, but in the course of
the discussion on the Kruger-Grobler relationship, Grobler's official as
well as his informal role will naturally receive some attention.
1
This article was written originally in Afrikaans and has been translated into English by Bridget
Theron, Department of History, Unisa.
2
JA Buttery, Why Kruger made war (London, 1900), pp 2-4, 230.
42
Kleio XXXII, 2000
Youth and early career
Piet Grobler was born on 1 February 1873 at Boekenhoutfontein near
Rustenburg, in the original farmstead owned by Paul Kruger, later to
become state president. Piet's mother, the president's niece, was the
daughter of Kruger's sister. Little is known of Piet's childhood. He
received his basic education at a farm school but this did not quench his
thirst for knowledge. He was friendly with Tjaart Kruger, the president's
youngest son, and through Tjaart's mediation it was arranged that Piet
should go to Pretoria where he would further his education at the
Staatsgymnasium (State Gymnasium). It was also agreed that Piet
would board with the Krugers. In 1889 he moved to Pretoria where he
received a warm welcome from the president, despite the fact that it had
been years since the two had last met. In the official presidential
residence Piet was treated very much as one of the children.3
At the gymnasium Grobler made good progress. He had a natural feel
for languages and a keen interest in history. In 1891, at the age of 18,
he entered the civil service as acting first clerk in the Department of
Education.4
Grobler's career in the civil service of the South African Republic
(SAR) was marked by a particularly rapid climb through the ranks. This
progress can be ascribed to three main factors. Firstly, it should be
remembered that Grobler was related to the president and that there
was an exceptional bond and a very close understanding between
Kruger and his great-grand nephew. None of Kruger's other relatives
had such a meteoric rise as Piet Grobler. Secondly, Grobler was
hardworking and capable. Thirdly, circumstances favoured him. In
1893, after years of dissatisfaction that so many Hollanders held senior
positions in the civil service, the First Volksraad had taken a decision
that where possible, `zonen des lands' (sons of the soil) should receive
priority in all state appointments.5 As Grobler was a republican citizen
by birth, this was also to his advantage.
It is important to note that all appointments in the SAR administration were made by the `Regeering', the `Government', and in the
republic this was the responsibility of the State President and the State
3
J C H Grobler, Politieke leier of meeloper? Die lewe van Piet Grobler, 1873±1943 (Melville,
1998), pp 1±2.
4
Ibid, Politieke leier, p 2.
5
Transvaal Archival Depository (hereafter TAD), EVR 52, Minutes, First Volksraad decision,
art 474, 27 June 1893, p 644.
43
Kleio XXXII, 2000
Secretary. Thereafter the appointment had to be approved by the First
Volksraad.6
In May 1892 Grobler's acting appointment became a permanent post.
As a matter of fact Dr W J Leyds, the State Secretary at the time, gave
the instruction that only Grobler's permanent appointment should be
ratified ± other applications, including that of Dr N Mansvelt as
Superintendent of Education, would have to wait until the budget had
been approved by the First Volksraad.7 At this juncture Leyds
obviously did not share Kruger's opinion on Grobler's potential. This
is a clear example of the preferential treatment enjoyed by Grobler.
In September 1893, after a successful application for a transfer,
Grobler resumed his career in the State Mining Department. The
flourishing mining industry promised better opportunities for the
ambitious young official. Again Grobler gained quick promotion and by
February 1896 he was the responsible clerk in the head office, being
appointed over the heads of more senior and experienced officials on
several occasions. In Pretoria only the Head of Mines, C J Joubert, and
the assistant head, D P Liebenberg, were senior to him8 ± a remarkable
distinction for a young man of only 23 years of age. The signs were
already there that the president had earmarked his young relative for
greater things. Indeed, in the course of 1894 Grobler also acted for a
while in the capacity of private secretary to Kruger9 and although he
had long since moved out of the presidential home, he was a frequent
visitor there.
In March 1896 Grobler decided to visit England and Europe and
when he submitted his request for leave it was recommended by his
head, Joubert, on the grounds that the trip would be ìn belang ... van
de jonge Transvaalers' (in the interests of the young Transvalers). The
necessary leave was accordingly granted.10
Grobler left for England and the continent in March 1896 and he was
back in Cape Town again on 30 June. While in England he met a number
of influential British statesmen, including the Secretary of State for the
6 See C F Nieuwoudt, `Die ontstaan en ontwikkeling van die uitvoerende gesag in die ZAR' (Unpub
D Phil, UP, 1963), pp 268±70.
7 TAD, SS 3282, Incoming correspondence, file R 4448/92: Leyds ± Supt of Education, 11 May
1892, p 104; Grobler, Politieke leier, p 4. For more on the influence and role of Leyds see L E van
Niekerk, Kruger se regterhand. 'n Biografie van dr W J Leyds (Pretoria, 1985).
8 Grobler, Politieke leier, pp 4±6.
9 De Pers, 25 April 1894 and 3 October 1894.
10 TAD SS 5272, Incoming correspondence, file R 2380/96: Grobler ± State Secretary Internal
Affairs, 6 March 1896, pp 165±166; Head of Dept Mines ± State Secretary, 6 March 1896, p 159.
44
Kleio XXXII, 2000
Colonies, Joseph Chamberlain, with whom he conducted a lengthy
interview. Although the discussion did not really bear any fruit, Grobler
apparently made a favourable impression on Chamberlain. The Weekly
Press reported: `We have reason to know that Mr Piet Grobler greatly
impressed Mr Chamberlain when he saw him at the Colonial Office ...
and Mr Grobler defended the Transvaal Government in the language of
a very outspoken character, but in a way that won Mr Chamberlain's
respect.'11 Elsewhere by this time Grobler was already being referred
to as à leading and influential burgher of the Republic'.12
For the next two years Grobler continued working in the Department
of Mines and on occasion he even stood in as acting assistant Head of
Mines.13 One newspaper was even undiplomatic enough to declare: Ìt
is pretty well-known that to him [Grobler] and to Mr D P Liebenberg
are ascribable the present efficiency of the Mynwezen Kantoor.'14 The
head himself, C J Joubert, is not mentioned.
Be that as it may, the president and the Executive Council followed
Grobler's career with interest. In February 1898 Kruger was reelected
as president by an overwhelming majority over his two more
progressive opponents, Piet Joubert and Schalk Burger. Kruger's
handling of the Jameson Raid (1895±96) gave his popularity a dramatic
boost. For Grobler, whose fate was by now so closely aligned with that
of Kruger, it was a personal triumph. Kruger's resounding victory
should be attributed in part to the fact that the British pressure on the
SAR increased after the abortive Jameson Raid. It stirred up a wave of
antagonism from the burghers which was of great political advantage to
the status of president and the ideals for which he stood.15 Kruger's
policy was focused primarily on making the independence of the
Transvaal inviolable, and with the mandate he had received from the
voters he could now pursue this goal more vigorously. Clearly the
influence and status of the republic overseas was a vital ingredient in
his plans.
In May and June 1898 the civil service was reorganised and a
number of new senior officials were appointed, while others were given
new posts. State Secretary Leyds was named as the new Envoy
Extraordinary of the SAR overseas. Ex-President F W Reitz of the
11 The Weekly Press, 23 July 1896; Grobler, Politieke leier, pp 6±10.
12 The Standard and Diggers' News (London edition), 11 June 1896.
13 Grobler, Politieke leier, p 10.
14 The Standard and Diggers' News (Weekly edition), 4 June 1898.
45
Kleio XXXII, 2000
Orange Free State succeeded Leyds as State Secretary.16 Both Kruger
and Leyds favoured the choice of the Free Stater Abraham Fischer
(MEC) for the post ahead of Reitz, but Fischer was not interested.17 The
brilliant young jurist, J C Smuts, was appointed State Attorney.
Grobler introduced Smuts to Kruger and in fact recommended him for
the position.18 The Under State Secretary of External Affairs, C van
Boeschoten, was named chargeÂ d'affaires to the overseas legation and
consequently a new Under Secretary had to be found. On 4 June it was
announced that Piet Grobler was to be the next Under State Secretary
of External Affairs ± a move which was dubbed à source of
gratification to burgher and uitlander alike'.19 On 1 July 1898 the
25-year old Grobler took over the responsibilities of the Under State
Secretary.20
Grobler's appointment was criticised in some quarters. Leyds for
example wrote: `de benoeming van Piet Grobler was vir mij een
verassing' (the nomination of Piet Grobler was a surprise to me). He
saw H C ten Haaf, the first clerk, as the logical successor to Van
Boeschoten.21 T J Krogh, the Under State Secretary of Internal Affairs
in fact blamed Leyds for not making the necessary arrangements for the
appointment of a new Under State Secretary before his departure for
Europe.22 It is well known that at the time (1898) Leyds was one of the
few officials who still enjoyed the full confidence of Kruger and that the
president usually followed his advice. J S Smit, Government Commissioner of Railways, was highly dissatisfied with `de willekeurig
aanstelling van Doppers ± Verbeeld u Piet Grobler OSS van
Buitelandsche zaken ... waar moet dat heen!'23 (the indiscriminate
appointment of Doppers ± imagine, Piet Grobler as Under State
Secretary of External Affairs ± whatever next!). Like the president,
Grobler was also a member of the Gereformeerde Kerk (Reformed
Church) and was thus a `Dopper'.
16 Ibid, pp 11±12.
17 D S Jacobs, Àbraham Fischer in sy tydperk, 1850±1913', Archives Yearbook for SA History, II,
(1965), pp 272±273; K van Hoek, Gesprekke met dr W J Leyds (Pretoria, 1939), p 22.
18 W K Hancock, Smuts I: The sanguine years, 1870±1919 (Cambridge, 1962), p 68; J C Smuts, Jan
Christian Smuts (London, 1952), p 38.
19 The Standard and Diggers' News (Weekly edition), 4 June 1898.
20 The Weekly Press, 2 July 1898.
21 TAD, Leyds Archive (hereafter LA) 252 (iii), General correspondence: Leyds ± Krogh, 28 July
1898, unnumbered (typed copy).
22 TAD, E 32, LA, M film A 553, box 69: Krogh ± Leyds, 3 September 1989.
23 Ibid, M film A 556, box 78: Smit ± Leyds, 6 November 1898.
46
Kleio XXXII, 2000
The merits of Grobler's appointment can be debated at length. He
was certainly a capable official and by 1898 was proficient in four
languages ± Dutch, English, German and French ± and he was extremely
well read.24 Added to this he was a born and bred Transvaler, yet the
question arises whether he did not, as in the past, enjoy preferential
treatment. Did the president perhaps play a role in his appointment?
Although Kruger is often accused of nepotism ± and not without
grounds25 ± it is unthinkable that he would knowingly have appointed
an unsuitable, ill-equipped person into this highly responsible position.
What is certain is that by 1898 Kruger dominated the Executive Council
and his wishes were usually honoured. J S Smit, who frequently
attended ex officio sittings of the Council, wrote that the president had
become èen outocraat in letter en geest' and that he evidently `voor
niemant en niets een oor ... hebben maar zaken of dengen thuis klaar
gemaakt' (an autocrat literally and figuratively ... [who] ... does not
take advice from anyone at all but makes up his mind at home about
matters and things). In the Executive Council Schalk Burger was the
only man who sometimes opposed the president. Piet Joubert avoided
all confrontation and according to Smit even Reitz (who together with
Kruger comprised the `Government') offered little resistance.26 If
Kruger had wished to appoint Grobler, he would have had his way.
`Piet', when all is said and done, was the `favourite nephew [sic] of
President Kruger.'27
Nevertheless, Grobler also enjoyed support outside the Council. De
Volksstem alleged that he was appointed by the government òp versoek
van verschillende Volksraadsleden'28 (at the request of various members
of the Volksraad), while The Weekly Press declared that `we do not
remember an occasion upon which an appointment has met with such
universal approval from old and new alike ... as a promising and rising
Transvaaler he [Grobler] has few compeers.'29 Furthermore, the acting
British Agent, Edmund Fraser, told the British High Commissioner, Sir
Alfred Milner, that Grobler's appointment `has been hailed with approval,
excepting for his extreme youth, by all sections of the Press'.30 Despite all
this positive comment, it can safely be assumed that had Kruger not
25 See N J van der Merwe, Marthinus Theunis Steyn, I (Cape Town, 1921), p 158.
26 TAD, E 32, M film A 556, box 78: Smit ± Leyds, 6 November 1898.
28 De Volksstem, 29 June 1898.
30 Imperial White Book, no 543: Fraser ± Milner, 28 June 1898, p 533. (My italics.)
47
Kleio XXXII, 2000
supported Grobler, at that time he would have stood little chance of being
appointed as Under State Secretary.
Under State Secretary of External Affairs
At the age of 25 years Piet Grobler was thus a senior official with a
salary of £1 000 per annum.31 Further promotion in the foreseeable
future was out of the question and he now had to prove that the
confidence the president had shown in him was justified. A lengthy
discussion of Grobler's conduct as Under State Secretary is not the
issue here; as indicated in the introduction, the focus falls instead on
the relationship between Kruger and Grobler. For this reason only
incidents which illustrate the nature and the significance of this
relationship will receive attention. Emphasis will be placed particularly
on the indirect impact that Grobler was able to exercise on Kruger
behind the scenes. There is more than adequate proof that he did indeed
fill an exceptional position of trust and by 1899 he was one of the few
officials in Pretoria (State Attorney Smuts was another) who had almost
daily contact with the president. Edmund Fraser, for example, wrote in
August 1898 that `he [Grobler] ... enjoys the Prest's confidence, having
been present as a listener, each time I have interviewed the
President'.32
Because of the nature of his position, Grobler was required to
correspond on an almost daily basis with foreign powers. He also had
to be in close contact with the legation in Brussels, so he was able to
keep abreast of developments in international politics.33 In addition to
the Free State with whom Grobler naturally had frequent contact,
dealings with Great Britain took up most of his time.
When Grobler began his new post the relationship between the
republic and Britain was already extremely tense. Immediately after
the abortive Jameson Raid (1896) there appeared to the casual observer
to be a temporary lull, but this was misleading. The Transvaal was an
independent state as far as internal affairs were concerned, but in
terms of article iv of the London Convention of 1884, external affairs
fell under the sovereignty of Britain. With the exception of the Free
State boundary, the Transvaal was already completely encircled by
British territory. For Britain it was now a question of whether the
31 Staats-Almanak ZAR, 1899, p 41.
32 TAD, Photocopies (hereafter FK) 1097 Milner Papers (Oxford no 3) Private correspondence:
Fraser ± Milner, 26 August 1898, p 430.
48
Kleio XXXII, 2000
Transvaal could be incorporated by peaceful means or whether this
would have to be effected by force of arms.
The first opportunity where the young Under State Secretary was able
to make a contribution by preventing a serious confrontation with Britain
and at the same time helping Kruger to avoid a parlous situation, was the
Bunu incident. When the Swazi king Bunu murdered his senior headman
and a number of other Swazi people in April 1898, the republic decided to
summon Bunu to court ± in terms of the Swaziland Convention of 1894
the SAR had been granted a measure of control over Swaziland. Without
any legal grounds, Milner objected strongly to the Transvaal proposal
and threatened possible action against the republic. Due to the mediation
of Grobler, Reitz and Smuts a serious crisis was averted when they
succeeded in persuading Kruger to back down on the Bunu matter and
withdraw the decision to take him to court.34
Grobler also initially believed that he would be able to make a
contribution towards improvement of the strained relationship
between Transvaal and Britain. The fact that quite apart from being
related to Kruger he also had easy access to the president, gave more
weight to Grobler's suggestions and recommendations than his youth
and inexperience really warranted.
After a visit of three months to England, Milner returned to South
Africa with the fixed intention of bringing the `Transvaal question' to a
`final solution'. Nevertheless, there were still influential people who
believed that the threatening war could be averted. Early in 1899 the
Capetonian John X Merriman proposed a peace plan, namely that a
South African conference should be held to iron out political problems
and other matters of common interest, but he did not wish to have his
name linked to the peace initiative. He therefore used his friend, E A
Lippert, the dynamite concessionaire, as mediator to test the reaction
of the Transvalers.35
Lippert arrived in Johannesburg in January 1899 and before going to
Pretoria he had discussions with Johann Rissik, the Surveyor General.
Lippert considered Rissik to be knowledgeable about `men and matters
at Pretoria', so he asked Rissik his opinion on whom he (Lippert) should
take with him to the president ìn order to avoid misunderstandings,
and whose support might influence him (Kruger) ... he strongly
34 See TAD, FK 1106 (Oxford no 7) Protocol Swaziland: Fraser ± Milner, 2 September 1898, pp 763±
764; N G Garson, `The Swaziland question and a road to the sea, 1882±1895', Archives Yearbook
for SA History, II, (1957), pp 362±372.
35 P Lewsen (ed), Selections from the correspondence of John X Merriman, 1899±1905 (Van
Riebeeck Society, no 47), p 2.
49
Kleio XXXII, 2000
recommended young Piet Grobler ... as a man who would be best, and
who would speak up to the old man with most influence. I found this
opinion endorsed in Pretoria'.36 After Lippert had informed Grobler of
his intention and had received Grobler's support for the proposals, they
went together to the president.
In an interview of about two hours during which Grobler did not only
listen attentively but also, as Lippert puts it, èmphasised and
supported me on all points', it appeared that although Kruger
concurred with the Merriman proposals, he was against an official
South African conference. Nevertheless, he was prepared to meet
Merriman privately. The meeting in Pretoria, which was also attended
by Grobler and the Free Stater Abraham Fischer, apparently went
favourably and agreement was reached in principle that a conference
should be held. It did not, however, take place because the Prime
Minister of the Cape Colony, W P Schreiner, was against the idea
because the British government was not consulted in the discussions ±
something which Merriman feared from the very beginning.37
Besides Merriman there were also other Capetonians who tried to
avert the impending war, including the influential politician, J H (Onse
Jan) Hofmeyr. It is widely known that the Bloemfontein Convention of
May±June 1899 failed primarily because Milner and Kruger could not
agree on the Uitlanders' franchise qualification. Milner wanted to grant
full citizenship to all foreigners after residence of five years while Kruger
was prepared to allow them the franchise after seven years.38 In June
Hofmeyr made an attempt to persuade the Transvalers to make further
franchise reforms. He met with some success but renewed pressure from
Britain convinced Hofmeyr that more concessions were necessary from
the Transvalers if the franchise issue was to be resolved.39
Hofmeyr now decided that come what may, he would go himself to
negotiate with the Transvalers.40 However, he would first go to
Bloemfontein to discuss the new Cape proposals with President Steyn.
On 1 July he and A J Herholdt, the Cape Minister of Agriculture,
departed for Bloemfontein.41 On the previous day, in great secrecy,
36 Ibid, Lippert ± Merriman, 10 January 1899, p 5.
37 Ibid, Lippert ± Merriman, 10 January 1899, pp 6±9 and Merriman ± Mrs A Merriman, 25 January
1899, p 15; TAD, SSa 1050, Outgoing Telegrams, no T 243/99: Reitz ± Merriman, 8 April 1899,
p 253 and T 271/99: Grobler ± Prime Minister, Cape Town, 21 April 1899, p 281.
39 Ibid, pp 26±27.
40 J H Hofmeyr & F W Reitz, Het leven van Jan Hendrik Hofmeyr (Cape Town, 1913), p 593.
41 South African Library, Cape Town, J H Hofmeyr Papers, box 8c (i): Hofmeyr ± Fischer, 30 June
1899, unnumbered (copy); Van der Merwe, Steyn, I, p 219.
50
Kleio XXXII, 2000
Grobler and Smuts also went to the Free State capital. On 2 July the
Capetonians discussed the new proposals with the Free Staters and the
two Transvalers. A memorandum containing Hofmeyr's new suggestions was handed over to Grobler and Smuts and they promised to
strongly recommend the proposals to Kruger and the Executive
Council. They could, however, not guarantee that everything would
be accepted by the government.42 Then Grobler and Smuts had to try to
arrange an invitation for Hofmeyr and Herholdt to visit the Transvaal.
This was no easy task because since 1890 the relationship between
Kruger and Hofmeyr had been far from cordial ± Kruger was critical of
Hofmeyr's earlier friendship with Rhodes.43 Hofmeyr would only go to
Pretoria if he could be sure that he was welcome there.44
On that same night (2 July) Grobler, Smuts and Abraham Fischer
departed for Pretoria. Initially the Executive Council was not keen to
invite Hofmeyr and company to Pretoria and when it appeared that the
necessary invitation would not be forthcoming, Hofmeyr sent a
personal telegram to Grobler strongly underlining the importance of
his visit.45 Grobler, supported by Smuts and Fischer, now spared no
effort in persuading the Executive Council to extend the invitation.46
On 4 July, without committing himself, Grobler informed Hofmeyr that
it was difficult to `beslist te zeggen of Uwe komst de door u
gewenschte resultaten zal hebben' (say unequivocally whether your
arrival will bring the results which you seek) but added that
`samespreking tussen vrienden [kan] misschien heilzame gevolgen
hebben'47 (discussions between friends will perhaps have a healthy
impact). As a result of Grobler's efforts, Hofmeyr and Herholdt left that
same day for Pretoria.48
During the discussions which followed in the Executive Council,
Hofmeyr's proposals were accepted almost unchanged, so that the
SAR's franchise offer differed very little from the conditions that
Milner had suggested in Bloemfontein.49 Further discussion on the
43 Hofmeyr & Reitz, Hofmeyr, pp 594±595.
44 Van der Merwe, Steyn, I, pp 221.
45 SA Library, Cape Town, J H Hofmeyr Papers, box 8c (i): Hofmeyr ± Grobler, 3 July 1899,
unnumbered (copy).
47 TAD, SSa 840, Incoming correspondence, T 383, file Ra 3601/99: Grobler ± Hofmeyr and
Herholdt, 4 July 1899, p 167.
48 TAD, SSa 840, T 383, file Ra 3641/99: Government Secretary ± State Secretary A, 4 July 1899,
p 166.
49 M J Hugo, `Die stemreg-vraagstuk in die ZAR', Archives Yearbook for SA History (1947), p 130.
51
Kleio XXXII, 2000
franchise issue is irrelevant here except to mention that it played a
significant role in the outbreak of the Anglo-Boer War.
From what has been given above it is clear that in the course of 1899
Grobler acted increasingly not only as an influential confidant of Kruger
but also as a mediator between the president and other leaders. Indeed,
with Leyds overseas, Grobler and State Attorney Smuts emerged as
Kruger's foremost advisers from about August 1899. Reitz was plagued
by health problems and his influence with Kruger began to wane. From
about August, for example, Fischer liaised directly with Grobler and
Smuts and even sent them a special code system `voor gebruik met U
[Smuts] en Grobler'50 (for the use of you [Smuts] and Grobler]).
On the eve of the war Buttery made comment on the relationship
between Kruger and Grobler and the influence which Grobler was able
to exercise behind the scenes on the formulation of policy:
For reasons that are not familiar to Europe, Piet Grobler comes easily first of
what may be called the Lesser Lights of Fallen Krugerism. Indeed, during the
last twelve months of storm and stress he came very much to the front at
Pretoria ... and the affection in which he was held by Oom Paul made him a
person of no little importance, even apart from his official standing ... and as
he possessed intimate access to the President, and was implicitly trusted by
him, I have no doubt that he communicated many of his mistaken notions to
the head of State, who would absorb them without question.51
Kruger certainly trusted Grobler but the suggestion that he would
follow Grobler's advice blindly can surely be rejected.
War and Europe
On 11 October 1899 the Anglo-Boer War began. As Under State
Secretary, Grobler had sometimes attended sittings of the Executive
Council when matters involving foreign issues were discussed. Now,
just prior to the beginning of hostilities, he and Smuts were coopted as
members of the Council.52 It is impossible to determine with any
certainty why this decision was taken. Perhaps it can be attributed to
the fact that Piet Joubert, Schalk Burger, Piet CronjeÂ and Jan Kock, who
were all generals, were on commando and this meant that the only
council members who were still in Pretoria were the president, Reitz
and A D W Wolmarans. To address the war crisis it was presumably
decided to make the two young officials, both of whom had already
50 W K Hancock & J van der Poel (eds), Selections from the Smuts papers, I (no 123: Fischer ±
Smuts, 24 August 1899), p 303.
51 Buttery, Kruger, pp 230±232.
52 W J Leyds, Vierde verzameling (corresp 1900±1902), II, Annexures TT, p 171, note 1.
52
Kleio XXXII, 2000
proved themselves, members of the Council. As far as can be
established, at 26 years of age Piet Grobler was the youngest ever
full member of the Executive Council.
In the extremely tense times which followed the outbreak of war,
Kruger was to rely even more on the support and assistance of his
young relative. Indeed, Grobler became almost indispensable to Kruger.
On 3 October, when Commandant General Piet Joubert requested that
Grobler be appointed as his representative in Pretoria to help with the
military administration,53 Kruger did not want to accede to Joubert's
request because ìk hem [Grobler] ook in andere zaken ieder
oogenblik nodig heb'54 (I also need him for other matters at all times).
The fact that Grobler was compelled to remain in Pretoria while his
family and friends took an active part in the military operations, was a
great disappointment to him. Despite the fact that he abhorred violence
he tried on a number of occasions to go to the front. At the beginning of
February 1900 Grobler heard from Fischer that President Steyn was
considering sending Fischer to the Stormberg front. Steyn wanted
Grobler to accompany him so that he could later give Kruger first-hand
information about the military situation in the eastern Cape. In
addition, the approximately 800 Cape burghers at Stormberg were
keen to meet representatives from both republics.55 Grobler asked
Fischer if he would write personally to Kruger in the hope that this
would improve his chances of being granted the necessary permission.56 But once again Kruger was reluctant to do so; he saw
`hoegenaamd geen kans om Grobler nu te laten gaan' (absolutely no
chance of letting Grobler go now), because Wolmarans was ill and Reitz
was suffering from rheumatism which meant that he was unable to
attend Executive Council meetings on a regular basis.57 Grobler did
not, however, give up the idea completely and asked Fischer if he would
please approach Kruger again should he plan to visit the commandos,
adding that: ìk kom dan mischien los maar als u mij niet helpt is er
geen sprake van'58 (I may then be freed to go but if you do not help me
there will be no question of it).
Why was Kruger not prepared to grant Grobler leave to go to the
front? There is no evidence that the president wanted to protect Grobler
for personal reasons. Indeed, many members of Kruger's family were
53 TAD, KG 346 (i) Telegram books, no 3, 4 October 1899: Commandant General ± State Secretary.
54 TAD, KG 332 (v) Incoming Telegrams: State President ± Commandant General, 5 October 1899,
p 364.
55 TAD, LA 716 (a) War telegrams, no 16 of 3 February 1900: Fischer ± Grobler.
56 Ibid, no 18 of 3 February 1900: Grobler ± Fischer.
57 TAD, LA 716 (c), War telegrams, no 16 of 6 February 1900: President Kruger ± President Steyn.
58 TAD, LA 716 (d) War telegrams, no 29 of 7 February 1900: Grobler ± Fischer.
53
Kleio XXXII, 2000
fighting in the war. But it would appear that with most of his close
confidants on the front, the president was relying increasingly on
Grobler's presence and support.
On 21 February 1900 General Sir Redvers Buller began his fourth
attack on the Tugela lines and on 27 February the Boer resistance in
Natal collapsed completely.59 Piet Joubert then sent an urgent request
to Kruger to come personally to the front to help rally the fleeing
burghers. Kruger reacted immediately, and accompanied by Grobler,
arrived in Glencoe on 1 March. According to Grobler, after Kruger had
addressed the assembled burghers they were imbued with new courage
and their march back to the Biggarsberg was reasonably orderly.60
Meanwhile the vanguard of Roberts's army was advancing steadily
towards Bloemfontein and it was deemed necessary and urgent that
Kruger visit the commandos that were deployed between Roberts and
the Free State capital. Kruger and his entourage arrived in Bloemfontein on 5 March. During this visit Grobler acted as a makeshift
secretary. He and Kruger stayed with Steyn in the presidential
residence while the other officials and military leaders who were part
of the entourage went to the Free State Hotel and the Royal Hotel.
Grobler was clearly in a confidential role here. The president and Grobler
immediately held discussions with Steyn and Fischer. From Pretoria
Reitz and Wolmarans kept Grobler informed about matters which the
Transvaal was anxious that the two presidents should discuss, such as
plans for the defence of Bloemfontein and certain differences of opinion
between Transvaal and Free State military leaders. On 6 March Kruger
and Grobler went to the Boer laagers that were deployed on the Modder
River, where Kruger addressed the burghers. Back in Bloemfontein
further discussions were held and it was decided to send a deputation
(officially an Èxtraordinary Legation') to Europe to try to set up links
with one or more of the powerful states. The deputation was to
comprise Fischer (chairman), C H Wessels (OFS) and A D W Wolmarans (SAR) while J M de Bruijn would be the secretary.61
By 9 March Kruger and Grobler were back in Pretoria and on 13
March Bloemfontein was occupied by Lord Roberts.62 The seat of the
OFS government had been hurriedly moved to Kroonstad the previous
day. On 17 March Grobler again accompanied Kruger when he attended
a large meeting of the war council at which it was decided that in future
59 C J Barnard, Genl Louis Botha op die Natalse front, 1899±1900 (Cape Town, 1970), pp 132±147.
61 Ibid, pp 47±48.
62 Van der Merwe, Marthinus Theunis Steyn, II (Cape Town, 1921), pp 11±12.
54
Kleio XXXII, 2000
only mounted commandos would be used and the wagon laagers would
be disbanded.63
By this time it was already well known that Grobler, who was
literally every day at Kruger's side, was one of Kruger's trusted
confidants. This is well illustrated in the following incident. At the end
of March 1900 Commandant General Joubert died. A few days later it
was decided that generals Louis Botha and Koos de la Rey would jointly
hold the post in an acting capacity until the burghers could appoint a
successor. Botha was prepared to act under De la Rey or any other
suitable person, but insisted that there should only be one commanderin-chief. He thus asked his friend, State Attorney Smuts, to use ù en
Piet Groblers invloed' (your influence and that of Piet Grobler) so that a
satisfactory arrangement could be made.64 The matter was then
discussed with Kruger and on 14 April Botha was appointed as
Commandant General of the ZAR forces.65
At the beginning of May 1900 every available man was needed for the
war effort because the SAR itself was now under direct threat from the
advancing British forces. This time the president did not refuse
Grobler's request and on 1 May he departed for Mafeking as an
ordinary burgher, where he joined the Rustenburg commando under
Commandant P S Steenkamp. He took an active part in the fighting
which culminated in the relief of Mafeking on 17 May 1900. The Boer
commandos then retreated to Ottoshoop where Grobler received
instructions to return to Pretoria immediately.66
Shortly before Grobler's arrival in the capital it was decided to
evacuate Pretoria and as in the case of Bloemfontein, to offer no
resistance to Roberts. The seat of government was to move to
Machadodorp in the eastern Transvaal. Furthermore it was crucial
that the aged president should not fall into enemy hands.67 It is
possible that this decision was the reason why Grobler had to return to
Pretoria so suddenly.
In reaction to a personal request from Kruger it was decided that
Grobler should go to Machadodorp with the government. For the next
few months, from the end of May until 12 September 1900, Grobler, his
wife Lydia and their three year-old daughter Annie lived in a railway
63 Ibid, pp 12±13.
64 TAD, A 1, J C Smuts Collection, Public Papers (SA), vol 96, file 141: Botha ± Smuts, 4 April 1900.
65 Barnard, Louis Botha, pp 153±154.
67 C Beyers, `Laaste lewensjare en heengaan van President Kruger', Archives Yearbook for SA
History, I (1941), p 24.
55
Kleio XXXII, 2000
coach ± first at Machadodorp and later at Nelspruit.68 D N R van
Hoytema remained in Pretoria as acting Under State Secretary of
External Affairs.69
Because the winter at Machadodorp was too cold for the president,
he moved to Waterval Onder. Grobler and the other members of the
Executive Council travelled every morning to Waterval Onder to attend
sittings of the council. On 28 August the seat of government was moved
to Nelspruit70 and on 10 September 1900 the Executive Council ±
President Steyn was also present ± decided to grant Kruger six months
leave to go to Europe where pleading the Boer cause would be among
his commitments. At Kruger's request, Grobler was to accompany
him.71 Two days earlier it had been decided that the president's party
would comprise the following people: Dr A Heymans (personal
physician), H C Bredell (security official), F C Eloff (private secretary)
and Grobler who initially was merely included as the president's
companion. Kruger's personal valet was to be A HappeÂ.72
On 26 September 1900 Grobler and his family departed for Europe on
the Herzog òm een en ander te bespreken in verband met de
aankomst van President KruÈger'73 (to discuss a number of matters in
connection with the arrival of President Kruger), and on 24 October
they landed at Naples.74 Shortly afterwards Grobler held èenige
conferenties' (some discussions), mainly concerning the president's
impending arrival.75 Grobler was keen to accompany the other
members of the deputation to Marseilles to meet Kruger, but there
were insufficient funds, so Wolmarans wrote to Leyds explaining that
Aangezien het voor ZH Ed zekerzeer aangenaam zoude zijn den heer
Grobler dadelijk bij zich te hebben, stel ik voor zijne onkosten, voor deze
reis voor rekening der Regeering te doen komen, vooral omdat de
Uitvoerende Raad besloten heeft Grobler op te dragen ZH Ed in Europa
te vergezellen.76 (Because it will certainly be pleasing for His Excellency to
have Mr Grobler with him immediately he arrives, I suggest that his
68 See TAD, LA 512, Correspondence Montagu White with people in Europe: Grobler ± White, 22
February 1901, pp 33±35.
70 Beyers, `Laaste lewensjare', pp 24±25.
71 A copy of the relevant correspondence and the Executive Council decision concerned are to be
found in LA 329 (i), Accounts, Secret Service correspondence, file G 797V, 23 January 1902.
72 Ibid, Government Office, Nelspruit, 8 September 1900.
73 TAD, A 185, GCBO Noome Accession: Diary of Meindert Noome, 26 September 1900; Leyds,
Derde Verzameling (corresp 1900) I, p 321, note.
74 TAD, A 1135 JM de Bruin Accession: Diary entry, 24 October 1900.
75 Ibid, 27 October 1900.
76 TAD, A 250, Special Deputation OFS and Transvaal, vol B, Letterbook: Wolmarans ± Leyds, 8
November 1900, p 169.
56
Kleio XXXII, 2000
expenses for this journey be made payable to the account of the government,
particularly in view of the fact that the Executive Council decided to issue
Grobler with instructions to accompany His Excellency in Europe.)
The outcome of this was that Grobler was given an advance of £40 and
on 22 November he was able to accompany Leyds, Fischer and Wessels
to welcome the president on board the Gelderland.77
Because Grobler was attached to the president's `bureau' he was
constantly in Kruger's company for the first few months. His duties
included general supervision, arranging interviews and, in consultation
with Leyds, corresponding with the press. His `diensturen voor
Spesiale Tegenwoordigheid' (hours of duty for `special attendance')
with the president were from two until five in the afternoon.78
Initially the plan was to make Kruger's base in The Hague, but
because his eyes were giving him a great deal of trouble it was decided
that he should go to Utrecht where he would undergo an operation. On
22 January 1901 Kruger and his entourage left for Utrecht but Grobler
and a staff of four were instructed to remain in The Hague to keep the
office running.79
While he was heading Kruger's `bureau' in The Hague, Grobler's
work included a wide variety of duties. For example, the office
frequently received enquiries from people whose family members and
friends were fighting for the Boers and of whom they had not received
news. Then, too, attempts to raise funds and to spread propaganda for
the Boer cause took up a great deal of Grobler's time. He also had to
hold regular discussions with Leyds and the members of the deputation
on the course of the war,80 in which the Boer fortunes were becoming
progressively worse. Despite his heavy workload Grobler often made
the time to visit Kruger Ð not only to exchange pleasantries but
sometimes also to resolve a difficult issue ± as is illustrated in the
following incident.
According to Bredell it was expected that the president could live for
another six to ten years and Bredell and Dr Heymans felt it was wise to
discuss their future prospects if they were expected to care for him.
They felt that it was their duty to stay with the president even if he
decided never to return to South Africa, but could not do so unless
proper financial provision was made for their future. The president was
only prepared `£1 000 aan den Dokter en mijzelven geven' (to give
77 Beyers, Laaste lewensjare, p 29; Grobler, Politieke leier, p 52.
78 TAB, LA 602, Section R, Letter copybook: Agenda of affairs, 11 November 1900, pp 20±21.
80 Ibid, pp 53±54.
57
Kleio XXXII, 2000
£1 000 to the doctor and myself), which Bredell described as `laughable'. As so often in the past, Grobler was called in to talk to Kruger.
Grobler discussed the issue with him on 27 June 1902 and the
president agreed ìeder een min of meer aannemelijk bedrag toe te
staan' (to allow each a more or less acceptable amount) for the two men
and HappeÂ. But the next day Kruger changed his mind again and as a
result Bredell had to òp nieuw aan Grobler [sein] over to komen, die
twee dagen moest blijven, anders was er geen goed einde aan de
zaak' (again ask Grobler [by telegram] to come over, which meant
staying for two days without which there would not have been a
satisfactory resolution of the matter). Thereafter adequate provision
was made for Bredell and company. The details were laid down in a
notarial contract.81
During their stay in Europe Grobler and Bredell decided to write
down Kruger's memoirs. After the president, who saw the idea as
vanity, had reluctantly given his permission in August 1901, they
immediately set to work on the project.82 In the months that followed
Grobler visited the president regularly, first at Hilversum and later in
Utrecht. In the first part Grobler and Bredell made almost exclusive use
of Kruger's recollections. The president related these and they made
notes which they later collated.83 Gradually documents were also used
and thus the character of the biography changed. Despite the first
section, when it was completed the work was certainly not an
autobiography.84 The book was finally finished in October 1902. The
first edition was in German and this was followed by editions in
English, Dutch and several other languages. Most of the proceeds of the
publication were used for the needy women and children in the exrepublics, while the authors received even less than the president.85
The significance of this publication lies primarily in the valuable
information on Kruger's youth and his early formative years as a
statesman, information which would otherwise have been lost to
posterity. It has only limited value as an academic source.86
The Anglo-Boer War ended with the signing of the Peace of
81 H C Bredell, A G Oberholster (ed), Dagboek (Pretoria, 1972), 5 June 1902, p 82; 16±22 June
1902, p 83; 23±30 June 1902, pp 83±84.
82 Ibid, 13±14 August 1901, p 45; 18 August and 24 August 1901, p 48; 25 August 1901, p 49.
83 Ibid, 8 March 1902, pp 62±63; 29 March 1902, p 70; 3 April, 1902, p 72; 27 April 1902, p 78; 21
May 1902, p 79.
84 H C Bredell & P Grobler, Gedenkschriften van Paul Kruger, gedicteerd aan H C Bredell en Piet
Grobler. Geautoriseerde Nederlandsche uitgave bewerkt door Frederik Rompel (Amsterdam,
1902).
85 Bredell, Dagboek, 5 September 1902, p 87; Grobler, Politieke leier, p 56.
86 See Leyds's assessment of the Gedenkskrif in TAD, LA 253 (iii), General outgoing corresp: Leyds
± FV Engelenburg, Pretoria, 28 August 1902, unnumbered (typed copy).
58
Kleio XXXII, 2000
Vereeniging in Pretoria on 31 May 1902. This was a very sad day for
Grobler and his fellow republicans. Although his future was uncertain
he was in no doubt at all that he would indeed return to the Transvaal
one day. However there were certain problems which prevented him
from doing so right away. In addition to the ongoing work on Kruger's
memoirs he could not abandon his duties in the office in The Hague
immediately, and without the necessary permit from the British
authorities he was unable to enter British territory.87
In October 1902 the president moved to the south of France and at
the end of August Grobler resigned officially as a member of the
presidential staff.88 He and his family then settled in Paris, and while
he waited impatiently for the necessary documentation to return home,
he made the time to visit the president regularly. Christmas of 1902 for
example was spent with the president.89 There were apparently many
problems in arranging a permit for Grobler and it was only on 11 April
1903 that he and his family were finally able to leave Southampton for
Cape Town on the Dunottor Castle.90
Conclusion
Thus an important phase in Grobler's life drew to a close. At the
relatively young age of 30 years he had already achieved a great deal.
But although he had proved to be a capable official and administrator
he owed much of his rapid progress to Kruger's support. He would now
have to face the future without his beloved president, his sponsor and
patron. There still was to be limited contact now and then through the
post and Grobler could find some comfort and resignation in the fact
that the old statesman could end his last days in the loving care of Dr
Heymans, Bredell and HappeÂ. But when he bade Kruger goodbye he
must have been painfully aware that the farewell was final.
President Kruger died in Clarens, Switzerland on 14 July 1904. His
death was a very personal loss for Piet Grobler and, appropriately, he
was a member of the committee which made the funeral in 16
December in Pretoria a very moving and ceremonious occasion.91
In conclusion, how much weight did Grobler's opinion really carry
with Kruger? This is a difficult question to answer because there is very
88 TAB, LA 285 (v) Legation, Accounts, file GZR 4165a/02 in GZR 7542/00: Grobler ± Leyds, 28
August 1902.
90 Bredell, Dagboek, 16 March 1903, p 93 and 11 April 1903, p 94; Grobler, Politieke leier, p 57.
91 TAD, A 787, G S Preller Collection, vol 158: Kruger SJP, 1852±1912, p 292; C J Uys, Paul Kruger
van die wieg tot die graf (Cape Town, 1955), p 20; Grobler, Politieke leier, p 61.
59
Kleio XXXII, 2000
little written evidence to gauge his influence. It also has to be accepted
that most of Grobler's advice and suggestions were given to Kruger in
an informal manner in the course of private conversations. What is
certainly true is that Grobler was often, almost as a final resort,
summoned to `talk to the president' if a matter seemed bound to fail or
a crucial decision had to be made.
After the war Piet Grobler embarked on a life in politics. In 1910 he
was elected unopposed as the member of parliament for Rustenburg. As
a convicted rebel leader he had to step down from his seat in 1915 but
in 1921 he won again in Rustenburg and from 1924 to 1938 he served
as a minster in the Union Cabinet. He died in Pretoria on 22 August
1942.
60
Kleio XXXII, 2000
J P Brits: The Sauer commission and Afrikaners
The voice of the `people'? Memoranda
presented in 1947 to the Sauer commission by `knowledgeable' Afrikaners
J P Brits
1 Introduction
In March 1948 arguably one of the most significant commission reports
in the history of South Africa appeared in final form. This was the
Report of the colour question commission of the Re-united National
Party,1 commonly known as the Sauer commission, after its chairman,
Paul Sauer, Member of Parliament for Humansdorp and later cabinet
minister. The Sauer report which outlined the apartheid policy, should
be seen as the culmination of uncoordinated Afrikaner efforts since the
mid-1930s to formulate an alternative race policy to segregation which
was widely regarded as ineffective. The foundations for the final
formulation were laid inter alia by ideas emanating from the Afrikaner
Union for Racial Studies,2 theories expounded by anthropologists, the
recommendations of a commission appointed by the Cape Re-united
National Party to investigate a future policy towards the coloured
people, policy statements by politicians such as D F Malan and M D C
de Wet Nel, and decisions taken in 1944 at the People's congress
regarding the racial policies of the Afrikaner.3
Although there is a considerable body of literature on the deployment
of apartheid after 1950, the crop is less abundant on the formation of
the policy in the late 1940s. Revisionist historians have quite rightly
challenged Afrikaner and liberal historiography which explains the
emergence of apartheid merely in terms of ideology and race. The
emphasis has shifted to the effects of segregation and apartheid on
capitalist development, particularly with regard to the African
1
Verslag van die kleurvraagstuk-kommissie van die Herenigde Nasionale Party
2
Afrikanerbond vir Rassestudie.
3
Volkskongres oor die rassebeleid van die Afrikaner.
61
Kleio XXXII, 2000
labour supply.4 Dan O'Meara's analysis on this aspect has perhaps
been the most elaborate. According to O'Meara the Sauer report,
encapsulating apartheid policy, meant that the interests of all
capitalist groups were secured through measures which would make
exploitation of African workers possible in every way.5
Subsequent studies have focussed on control measures envisaged by
the Sauer report.6 The most comprehensive revision of interpretation of
the Sauer report as a `grand scheme' or `blueprint for all classes among
Afrikaners' has come from Deborah Posel. She has challenged O'Meara
(and others) indicating that the Sauer report indeed reflects some
ambiguities, even contradictions. Posel argues that some apartheid
intellectuals (the so-called `purists') envisaged total separation, in
order to stop African urbanisation even if that were to have serious
implications for the economy in terms of African labour supply. The
second group, defenders of so-called `practical apartheid', did not
differ from the `purists' as far as the broad principles of apartheid were
concerned, but they ruled out the possibility of complete economic
segregation since the African labour force was indispensable for the
farms and industries. African urbanisation, strictly controlled, should
be allowed to continue.7
A more recent critique on revisionist analysis has come from Aletta J
Norval, who has approached the emergence of apartheid formulation
from a linguistic perspective. Norval questions the comprehensiveness
of revisionist analysis (including Posel's), claiming that this work has
actually reduced apartheid to a policy of influx control without
accounting for the rich conceptualisation of apartheid which really
distinguishes it from its predecessor, segregation.8
None of the above-mentioned authors had access to the Sauer
commission's extensive documents. This article, based largely on the
4
See Deborah Posel, The making of apartheid 1948±1961: Conflict and compromise (Oxford,
1991), pp 1±18 for a historiographical overview of the literature on the emergence of apartheid.
5
Dan O'Meara, Volkskapitalisme: class, capital and ideology in the development of Afrikaner
nationalism 1934±1948 (Johannesburg, 1983), chapter 12.
6
For example Ian Evans, Bureaucracy and race: Native administration in South Africa
(Berkeley, 1997); Doug Hindson, Pass controls and the urban African proletariat (Johannesburg, 1987); Posel, The making of apartheid.
7
Deborah Posel, `The meaning of apartheid before 1948: conflicting interests and forces within the
Afrikaner Nationalist alliance', Journal of Southern African Studies, vol 14, no 1, Oct 1987; The
making of apartheid.
8
Aletta J Norval, `Searching for a method in the madness: apartheid and influx control', South
African Historical Journal, no 29, Nov 1993; Deconstructing apartheid discourse (London,
1996).
62
Kleio XXXII, 2000
original documents in the M D C de Wet Nel collection, attempts to
show the sociological dimension of apartheid thinking, pointing to the
multiclass complexion thereof. It also endeavours to prioritise the
needs of a representative sample of the constituents of the nationalist
Afrikaner policy makers. It will show that these needs were multidimensional, striving towards material security as well as cultural
identity and political fulfilment. To that extent the analysis will
supplement some of the more tentative conclusions of Posel, while also
further exemplifying apartheid conceptualisation (as investigated by
Norval) from a variety of sources.
In November 1946 D F Malan, leader of the Re-united National Party
(referred to as the National Party for the remainder of the text),
suggested that a commission should be appointed to formalise a race
policy for the National Party and he specifically mentioned the coming
parliamentary election as one of the reasons why such an action should
no longer be delayed. Early in the next year the commission was
announced with Paul Sauer as chairman, M D C de Wet Nel (secretary)
and G B A Gerdener, E G Jansen, J J Serfontein the additional
members. The Rev C B Brink and Dr P van Biljon were also originally
commissioned but owing to heavy workload were unable to attend
meetings. Brink later resigned.
The modus operandi of the commission was twofold: firstly, people
were consulted countrywide on the race issue by means of a questionnaire; secondly, the expertise of selected people on certain specialised
areas was utilised, resulting in the appointment of ten subcommittees and
a number of study committees (studiekomitees). The subcommittees
covered the following aspects of the race issue: anthropology, history,
education, missionary work, economics, social services, administration,
judiciary, urban Africans, and agriculture and labour. Prominent
Afrikaner academics, politicians, church leaders and jurists served on
these subcommittees.9 It is, however, interesting to note that the
commission (at least at the beginning of its investigation) also had experts
outside traditional Afrikaner institutions in mind: Sheila van der Horst, for
instance, was considered for the subcommittee for agricultural and labour
9
Institute for Contemporary History, University of the Orange Free State (hereafter INCH), PV 18,
C R Swart collection, 3/1/52, M D C de W Nel ± D F Malan, 10 March 1948. Nel signed the letter
but the names of the other Sauer commission members also appear on it. See also P W Coetzer
(red), Die Nasionale Party, Deel 5: Van oorlog tot oorwinning, 1940±1948 (Bloemfontein, 1994),
pp 492±499.
63
Kleio XXXII, 2000
issues. It is not known whether she was eventually approached and what
her response was.10 The Sauer commission decided not to tour around the
country to gather evidence, but rather to arrange meetings with people. If
the whole commission was not available for interviews, one or two
members would perform this duty.11
My main focus will be on the questionnaire sent out on 21 June 1947
and the memoranda sent in by respondents. These memoranda
reflected the views of a cross-section of society, though almost
exclusively people of Afrikaner origin. Secretary Nel studied the
responses on the questionnaire, as well as some other memoranda
which he requested people with expert knowledge of certain matters to
draw up, summarised these and submitted them to the rest of the Sauer
commission. In the meantime the subcommittees and study committees
also completed their reports, and the nett result of all these
contributions was a provisional (also called a semi-final report). This
provisional report was scrutinised by another panel of experts, before
it was finalised and submitted to D F Malan by March 1948. All that
was left was to summarise and adapt the full Sauer report to suit the
needs of an election pamphlet.
Although a wealth of correspondence, circulars, memoranda and
other documents on the workings of the Sauer commission is to be
found in the private collection of Nel, there are unfortunately also some
significant gaps in the documentation. The minutes of only one of the
meetings of the commission have been preserved and the report of only
one subcommittee could be traced. Unfortunately copies could also not
be found in the collection of E G Jansen and C R Swart.
2 The circular of 21 June 1947
2.1 Contents of the circular
The circular, in the form of a letter, signed and probably also compiled
by the secretary of the Colour question commission, M D C de Wet Nel,
indicated that the Federal Council (Federale Raad) of the National Party
had commissioned the party leader (hoofleier), Dr D F Malan, to
appoint a commission to design a comprehensive race policy, based on
apartheid. This policy should have a general as well as a particular
10 University of Pretoria, M D C de W Nel collection (hereafter UP, Nel coll), 67, Nel-J J FoucheÂ, 10
July 1947; INCH, E G Jansen coll, 1/22/3/1, Komitee insake kleurvraagstukke, notule nr 1, 16
April 1947.
11 INCH, E G Jansen coll, 1/22/3/1, Komitee insake kleurvraagstukke, notule nr 1, 16 April 1947.
64
Kleio XXXII, 2000
focus on the Africans, Coloureds and Asians as separate groups and
also on their mutual relations.
Recipients of the letter were requested to co-operate with the Sauer
commission by sending in memoranda containing their views and
recommendations on the race question for perusal by the commission.
A draft scheme, or outline, containing no fewer than 22 points for
consideration (each point containing three or more subsections) was
included. This was supposed to guide respondents by indicating issues
such as the magnitude of the problem, necessity of a solution, political
representation, social organisation, administration, labour and economic issues, and education.
However, the elaborate nature of the outline possibly scared off quite
a number of proposed respondents, particularly rural Afrikaners who
were not used to completing questionnaires. Many respondents replied
that they could not find time to send in a memorandum and most of
those who did reply did not adhere to the scheme, indicating that they
preferred not to comment on all points due to insufficient knowledge of
the particular aspects.12 There is nevertheless also evidence that in
some cases lack of response was due to other reasons. The Member of
the Provincial Council for Marico, P W Joynt, bluntly explained to Nel:
Ì have neither time nor inclination to bother with kaffirs, coolies and
hotnots (Coloured people).'13
2.2 Recipients of the circular
De Wet Nel sent copies of the circular of 21 June 1947 to all National
Party members of the House of Assembly and the provincial councils;
all members of the head committee (hoof raad) in each province; all
chairmen and secretaries of district councils (distriksbesture) of the
National Party in all four provinces, all well-disposed (goedgesinde)
lecturing staff members of all the universities and teachers from a large
number of schools; also other èxperts and interested' persons in the
country as well as in Zimbabwe (then Rhodesia) and Namibia (then
South West Africa). This last category, unspecified, constituted a
considerable number of Afrikaners, mostly farmers and inhabitants of
towns, the occupations of whom could not be determined readily, but
who were presumably in most cases ministers of Afrikaner churches,
12 INCH, PV 18, C R Swart coll, 3/1/48, circular, 21 June 1947.
13 Èk het nie tyd, en lus om met kaffers, koelies, en hotnots te peuter nie.' Nel coll, 30, P W JoyntNel, 21 July 1947.
65
Kleio XXXII, 2000
missionaries of the NG Sendingkerk and middle-class professional
people. By 29 July 1947 Nel mentioned that he had despatched
approximately 1 700 circulars, and in March 1948 he mentioned a
figure of approximately 5 000. The latter could have included every
circular which Nel had sent out since the commission had been
constituted, and does not necessarily mean that such a large number of
people were asked to respond to the 21 June circular which requested
people's views on a new race policy.14
According to Nel, about 500 memoranda were submitted by
respondents. In his opinion most of these were short and factual;
others were of a particularly high scientific standard. However, in the
Nel collection only 36 memoranda of which the contents could be
analysed, were found. Since the full commission assembled only five
times in the period of its existence, one can assume that the
preparatory commission work was done by the secretary. Thus Nel
probably made a selection of the most representative memoranda and
disposed of the rest. What his considerations and criteria were, is not
known. A notable feature of the secretary's method of selection is that
he kept some of the replies of respondents who did not offer an opinion
on the matter (in most cases explained as due to lack of time). These
included prominent academics such as Proff Geoff CronjeÂ, H P Cruse,
J L Sadie and J J MuÈller, and Afrikaans ministers such as Rev W N van
der Merwe, D G Venter and T F J Dreyer.
3 The issues addressed: broad categories
As indicated above, most responses did not adhere to the fixed scheme
prepared by the commission. In order to make justifiable conclusions from
the memoranda which Nel and his colleagues utilised in their efforts to
formulate a future race policy, I classified issues addressed by
respondents into broad categories. Ten such main categories were
identified, and some other issues that received less attention are also
indicated. These categories are listed below in the order of importance to
respondents.
Respondents' occupations have been identified as far as their home
addresses and titles allowed. For the purpose of this study they are
divided into four main groups: farmers, academics, ministers and
14 INCH, PV94, Jansen coll, 1/22/3/1, M D C de W Nel-Jansen, 29 July 1947; PV18, C R Swart coll,
3/1/52, M D C de W Nel-D F Malan, 10 March 1948.
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Kleio XXXII, 2000
missionaries, other. The òther' group constitutes people in towns or
cities with no indication of their professions. In each category below
the proportion of attention each main issue received from each
occupational category has been indicated as a percentage.
%
%
Ministers/
missionaries
%
1 Physical separation
of the races (including motivations for
such separation)
25
8
25
42
2 A definite policy
towards Coloureds
and Indians
0
8
38
54
3 The creation of own
administrative
bodies for Africans
20
20
20
40
22,2
22,2
11,1
44,4
22,2
22,2
33,3
22,2
22,2
0
33,3
44,4
0
33
17
0
17
33
50
17
33
17
33
33
17
17
33
Category
4 The education of
Africans
5 The importance of
white leadership in
the development of
the apartheid policy
6 Development in own
geographical areas
as sine qua non for
Africans' development
7 Labour issues in
`white' as well as
Àfrican' areas
8 The economic (particularly industrial)
development of
African areas
9 Development of the
philosophy of òwn'
ethnic identity
10 Social control
Farmers
Academics
Other
%
50
67
Kleio XXXII, 2000
Other issues mentioned to a lesser extent in memoranda were: the
detrimental influence on race policies of foreign ideologies such as
communism; the need for whites to be informed about race issues and
to make sacrifices in order to make apartheid workable; the role of
religion in African communities; housing for Africans; need for
educated Africans to uplift their own people; importance of apartheid
indoctrination; influx of Africans to `white' urban areas.
That the majority of respondents preferred not to make use of the
commission's scheme, but rather to choose their own priorities, has
been beneficial to the analysis of the memoranda in the sense that it has
brought forward the issues important to these people spontaneously,
without compelling them to respond to questions on issues that were
less urgent or perhaps more embarrassing to them. That, of course,
does not mean that the investigation will give the researcher accurate
results in all respects. The sample remains relatively small, particularly when the large number of responses that were apparently
discarded by the secretary of the Commission are taken into account.
In addition one should consider that the selection of the memoranda
was a subjective one, made by the secretary of the Sauer commission.
On the other hand, it should be stated that proportions within the
sample do not differ drastically in terms of numbers, which means that
fairly valid deductions could be made regarding preferences expressed
by various professional groups.
The sample shows that farmers, academics and ministers/missionaries
when grouped together formed the majority of opinions expressed in
seven out of the ten main categories. Arguably these professional groups
can be regarded as the most significant opinion formers in the sample,
whether the secretary (Nel), who had made the selection, realised it or not.
The preponderance of particular issues among the professional groups
shows that in the case of farmers category 10 (social control) and category
1 (physical separation of races), were the burning issues; in the case of
academics category 9 (the development of the philosophy of òwn' ethnic
identity) and category 7 (labour issues in `white' as well as Àfrican' areas)
were most important; to ministers/missionaries the issues of category 2 (a
definite policy towards Coloureds and Indians) and category 5 (the
importance of white leadership in the development of the apartheid policy)
enjoyed preference.
The responses by the different social groups were not completely
predictable. It is surprising that a larger percentage of ministers/
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Kleio XXXII, 2000
missionaries did not express themselves on the question of religion in
African communities; instead, a definite policy towards Coloureds and
Indians received more attention from this group. Since white farmers
through their representatives in agricultural societies and in parliament
had traditionally been pressing for a larger supply of African farm
labour, one would also expect that farmers would have been keen to
address the question of farm labour. Admittedly this matter was
implicitly related to the issue of social control in the minds of the
farming respondents and they might have reflected their needs in a
different way. It is also noticeable that proportionately less attention
than could have been expected, was given by academics to the matter of
education to African people.
Another observation concerns the degree of sophistication of the
responses received. Obviously an assessment of such a qualitative
factor may be subjective, reflecting personal preference, and therefore
may have relative value. There are nevertheless some criteria which
will be generally accepted by any skilled analyst, for instance
knowledge of the subject, capability of arguing logically, and the
ability to express oneself clearly. The more sophisticated memoranda
adhered to all these requirements or at least to most of them. Applying
these general norms, it was found that less sophisticated responses
only equalled sophisticated ones in category 10 (social control). In only
two other categories (category 1 and category 9) the less sophisticated
answers constituted more than 40% of the total. There is also no clearcut correlation between sophistication of response and professional
groups. In some cases farmers' answers were more thoughtful and
better presented than those of some of the clergy.
4 The issues addressed: individual voices
The high priority which physical separation of races and the principle
of white guardianship (the two issues were in fact interrelated) enjoyed
among respondents is evident. The attitudes of respondents differ
merely with regard to the degree of paternalism expressed. Some views
reflect a more humane disposition than others, but the central idea
revolved around separate development of Africans under white
auspices ± by implication Afrikaner leadership.
The maintenance of `white Christian civilisation' was a prerequisite
for any form of race arrangement in South Africa. White Christian
civilisation should survive in South Africa, 'not because we are white,
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Kleio XXXII, 2000
but because we are the exponents of the Christian civilisation ...'15, J J
du Toit, senior lecturer in the Faculty of Education of the University
College of the Orange Free State, maintained. The Reverend W J
Wentzel (a missionary) of Thaba `Nchu articulated a view held by
Afrikaners for many years to come, namely that white people in fact
helped to preserve African societies: `The arrival of whites with their
Christian civilisation was a true blessing for the blacks in South Africa.
What would have happened to the smaller black tribes if the
Voortrekkers did not end the power of the tyrant Dingane?' 16
Linked to Christian responsibility was that of white guardianship. The
Reverend T F J Dreyer declared: Ì am a very strong proponent of the
Voortrekker standpoint: guardianship over coloured races and opportunity granted to them for self-development in their own spheres of life.'17
Several other memoranda confirmed this sentiment. J J du Toit
expressed the opinion that apartheid was essential so that the white
races as guardians could preserve their identity in order to exercise their
guardianship. According to Du Toit the Africans, as a result of prolonged
exposure to Western civilisation, would in course of time develop into a
`cultural people' (apparently the equivalent of intellectually developed
people in this particular case). At that point in time white guardianship
would become redundant. Nevertheless, the process of adopting Western
civilisation should be gradual and should never be forced upon the
African people, according to Du Toit.18 A widely expressed notion, not
only among Afrikaners but also in broader colonial circles, was that
development in African societies should take place under white auspices.
D L Ehlers of Ermelo articulated this view as follows: Ìn each of the
existing areas [for Africans] the African people should be taught under
supervision and guidance of white experts to explore and develop the
natural resources to their fullest extent.'19 F P Smit interpreted the
principle of guardianship as not only in line with the aspirations of the
15 `Nie omdat ons blank is nie, maar omdat ons die draers van die Christelike beskawing is.' UP,
Nel coll, 67, J J du Toit, 22 July 1947.
16 `Die koms van die Blanke met sy Christelike beskawing was vir die Nie-Blankes in S A 'n ware
seeÈn. Wat sou van die verskillende kleiner Naturellestamme geword het as die Voortrekkers
nie die mag van die dwingeland Dingaan verbreek het nie?' UP, Nel coll, 67, W J Wentzel, no
date.
17 Èk is 'n baie sterk voorstander van die Voortrekker standpunt: voogdyskap oor gekleurde
rasse en geleentheid aan hulle om hulle self te ontwikkel op eie terrein.' UP, Nel coll, 67, T F J
Dreyer, no date.
18 Àpartheid is noodsaaklik omdat die blanke rasse as voogde hul identiteit moet bewaar
teneinde hul voogdyskap te kan uitoefen.' UP, Nel coll, 67, J J du Toit, 22 July 1947.
19 Ìn elkeen van bostaande [sic] gebiede moet die naturelle onder toesig en leiding van blanke
deskundiges geleer word om die natuurbronne behoorlik te ontgin en te ontwikkel.' UP, Nel
coll, 67, D L Ehlers, no date.
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Kleio XXXII, 2000
majority of whites in South Africa, but also as an expression of Article 22
of the Act of the League of Nations and Article 76 of the Charter of the
United Nations Organisation.20
All these ideas had one common denominator, namely that equality
between white and African in terms of political, social and economic
rights would be devastating to peaceful co-existence. The Reverend
T F J Dreyer probably spoke on behalf of all respondents when he
expressed himself as `[one] hundred percent against any form of
equality'.21 Another respondent, the Reverend W J Wentzel, raised a
point which was often to be mentioned in later years, particularly by
conservative Afrikaners when criticising white liberals. `Curiously
enough, these campaigners for equality are not keen to live among the
non-whites; they are even less prepared to see that their children marry
non-whites.'22 Although most respondents appeared to regard racial
equality as detrimental to white interests, at least one person provided
an alternative motivation: M W Retief of Cape Town argued that
equality would in fact mean suppression of the African people.23
Àfrican people will have the opportunities in African areas to rise to
the highest positions,' he wrote. `There they will be able to be clerks in
offices, and postmasters and teachers and town clerks and magistrates
and shopkeepers and merchants and building and transport contractors. If they are not separate they will never learn and develop to fill
these important occupations.' This was not an entirely new argument,
since Dr W W M Eiselen, widely regarded as one of the main architects
of apartheid, expressed similar ideas. According to this theory, racial
integration would result in Africans being dominated by whites in a
white-controlled society, while total segregation would offer the
opportunity for Africans to develop to their full potential without
competition by whites. In earlier years the liberal Alfred HoernleÂ had
theorised along the same lines, although he had found the possible
solution to discrimination, namely total separation, not practical.24
The paternalism of Du Toit and others represents a milder, more
humane form of racial domination. He and some other Afrikaners
20 UP, Nel coll, 67, F P Smit, no date.
21 UP, Nel coll, 67, T F J Dreyer, no date.
22 `Wat eienaardig egter is, dat hierdie kampvegters vir gelykstelling nie self tussen die NieBlankes graag wil woon nie, nog minder sal hulle sien dat van hulle kinders met nie-blankes
sal trou nie.' UP, Nel coll, 67, W J Wentzel, no date.
23 Ìn naturelle gebiede het die naturelle die geleentheid om tot die hoogste posisies op te klim.
Hulle kan daar klerke in kantore wees, en posmeesters, en onderwysers en stadsklerke, en
prokureurs en magistrate, en winkeliers en handelaars, en bou- en transport kontrakteurs. As
hulle nie apart is nie, kan hulle nooit leer en ontwikkel om hierdie belangrike betrekkings te
vul nie.' UP, Nel coll, 67, M W Retief, 18 Aug 1947.
24 J P Brits, Op die vooraand van apartheid: die rassevraagstuk en die blanke politiek, 1939±1948
(Pretoria, 1994), p 86.
71
Kleio XXXII, 2000
believed that Africans would eventually, in an evolutionary way, reach
the same level of civilisation as whites. Another category of
respondents had a different view. I D van der Walt of Eureka, Cecilia
(near Ficksburg), a man who apparently had a philosophical background, maintained that there was no possibility of a synthesis of white
and African cultures and that àccording to biological laws crossfertilisation could only be successfully achieved when two species were
homogeneous' (`volgens biologiese wette kan kruisbestuiwing met
sukses gedoen word net tussen gelyksoortiges'), which implied that the
level of development should be equal. That was his rationale for a
policy of apartheid. Besides, Van der Walt clearly belonged to the
school of white thinkers who would regard intelligence quotient (IQ) as
a norm for determining the level of civilisation of people. He suggested
that before addressing the race problem, large-scale IQ tests among all
race groups should be undertaken. The average IQ of African people
should provide insight into the nature of future dealings with these
people as a group. Van der Walt did not beat about the bush: Africans
should be controlled in all spheres of life.25
Even more crude and also preoccupied with Biblical prescriptions
applicable to the Afrikaner volk were the thoughts of the Member of the
Provincial Council for Zoutpansberg, M G du Plessis. He could find no
evidence in the Word of God that the `heathen' (heiden) should be
educated (he regarded almost all of the nine million Africans of South
Africa as `heathen'). Du Plessis's reasoning runs as follows: `Nowhere
in the Word of God do we find that an educated person will accept the
Gospel of Christ more readily than will an uneducated one. The world
shows the opposite: the intellectual upliftment which we offer to the
heathen makes him less receptive to the Gospel. Yet, we continue to do
this. Our question should be: how can we best make the heathen
subservient to God? Yet, our question is: how can we best make the
heathen subservient to ourselves? That is why we imagine that we
cannot cope without the heathen, we think apartheid is impracticable.
The Gospel says it can and should be done.'26
25 Òns sal ook besef dat hy fisies sowel as geestelik onder kontrole moet wees en dat self[s] sy
massa bewegings onder leiding van die witman moet geskied.' UP, Nel coll, 67, I D van der
Walt, 29 Nov 1947.
26 `Nergens in die Woord van die Here staan dat 'n geleerde mens die Evangelie van Christus
meer geredelik sal aanvaar as 'n ongeleerde nie. Die wereld [sic] wys die teenoorgestelde. Die
verstandelike opheffing wat ons aan die heiden toebring maak hom dus minder ontvanklik
vir die Evangelie. Tog hou ons aan daarmee. Ons vraag moet wees: hoe kan ons die heiden die
beste diensbaar maak aan God? Maar ons vraag is: hoe kan ons die heiden die beste diensbaar
maak aan onsself? Daarom verbeel ons vir ons dat ons nie sonder die heiden kan klaarkom
nie, ons dink apartheid is onuitvoerbaar. Die Skrif seÃ dit kan en dit moet.' UP, Nel coll, 67, M G
du Plessis, 12 Sept 1947.
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Kleio XXXII, 2000
The argument of some apartheid thinkers that total separation was
not practical at that point in time, had a strong economic basis. F P
Smit summed it up in the following words: `Total segregation within the
foreseeable future is not desirable: (a) The economic life of the races is
so intertwined and they need each other so desperately, that
segregation will bring about a total disruption; (b) South Africa's
financial resources are not sufficient to afford a migration of the
peoples (volksverhuising) or to mechanise the `white' areas, or to
establish an adequate new industrial system for the African areas.'27
The Reverend J J F van Schoor of Louis Trichardt had similar ideas:
`... we cannot implement apartheid 100%, because the household,
business, the farmer and the mine needs the non-white.' He was also in
favour of labour depots on the borders of African areas to supply
farmers and the mining industry with the required labour force.28 In
accordance with the broader debate among apartheid ideologues about
the labour issue, some individuals responding to the Sauer commission's circular made it clear that complete apartheid should remain the
ideal, and that the sooner white areas could cope without African
labour, the better. The African labour force should be withdrawn
gradually from white areas, which in turn would mean that whites
would have to make sacrifices in order to cope without African labour.
Contrary to Smit's views one of the respondents reckoned mechanisation should have been an option, while another also thought that white
labour (possibly supplemented by white immigrants), would be a
means of solving this problem.29
Smit also doubted whether total separation was possible on political
grounds. Even if it were possible, it would have been undesirable to
grant a substantial degree of self-government to Africans within the
foreseeable future, he argued. `Their [the African people's] governing
practices are not sufficiently developed for modern national government. The tribal system tends towards autocracy and for democracy in
the European sense they are not yet ready,' he wrote. Smit's
gradualism was challenged by Du Toit: `The ideal form of separation
would be a bifurcation (tweedeling): one connected area for blacks,
separate from the white area. Such an area should later develop into an
27 Àlgehele segregasie binne afsienbare tyd is onwenslik: (a) Die ekonomiese lewe van die rasse
is so deureengevleg en hulle het mekaar so nodig, dat segregasie 'n algehele ontwrigting sal
teweegbring; (b) Die kapitaalkrag van Suid-Afrika is nog nie voldoende om 'n volksverhuising
van miljoene te bekostig, om die blanke gebiede te meganiseer of om 'n voldoende nuwe
nywerheidstelsel vir die naturellegebiede in die lewe te roep nie.' UP, Nel coll, 67, F P Smit, no
date.
28 `... ons kan nie apartheid 100 % invoer nie, want die Huis [sic], die besigheid, die boer en die
myn het die nie-blanke nodig ...' UP, Nel coll, 67, Rev J J F van Schoor, 8 Aug 1947.
29 See for instance Nel coll, 67, J J du Toit and D L Ehlers.
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own independent state (in the course of centuries).' The idea that
Africans should eventually administer their own regions was also
espoused by D L Ehlers. In his view all the African areas that were more
or less independent could be incorporated into the Union of South
Africa and represented by their own people in parliament. The
University of Pretoria academic and cultural leader Professor T J Hugo
envisaged àn own African state in South Africa with a large degree of
autonomy, except for foreign policy where the Union government will
have an exclusive say'. If in Europe Denmark could exist alongside
Germany, Germany alongside Holland and Belgium, Spain alongside
Portugal for so many centuries without conflict, why could different
peoples each with their own ideals not co-exist in South Africa, he
asked.30
Economic aspects of òwn development' received relatively little
attention, and memoranda which touched upon the subject mostly
revolved around agricultural and industrial development. Those who
responded, more or less agreed that the African people should be
afforded the opportunity to develop their own areas and that African
farmers needed to be trained to cultivate farming land. White expertise
was required as far as soil and water conservation was concerned.31
One respondent, G H van Rooyen, who claimed to have a profound
knowledge of the African reserves, gave a lengthy description of poor
conditions in these areas blaming the Native Affairs Department fully
for the deterioration. `The reserves have already been turned into
deserts as a result of the laxity of the Department,' he wrote. A new,
dynamic approach to the rehabilitation of the reserves was required.
`Field-workers and not office-clerks are required urgently to address
the problem scientifically and sensibly. Failing to do so would
inevitably result in large-scale influx to cities.' Van Rooyen then
suggested what F P Smit thought was not practical, but in fact was to
follow within a few decades: a (forced) migration (volksverhuising) of
the Africans. His idea was that all the Africans of the Transkei, Free
State and Basutuland should move to the northern parts of the
30 `Hul regeringsgebruike is nog nie genoeg ontwikkel vir moderne staatsbestuur nie. Die
stamstelsel neig tot outokrasie en vir demokrasie in Europese sin is hulle nog nie ryp nie.'
(Smit); `Die ideale skeiding sou wees 'n tweedeling: een aaneengeslote gebied vir naturelle,
apart van die blanke gebied. So 'n naturellegebied behoort dan later tot 'n eie onafhanklike
staat te ontwikkel (i.d. loop van eeue) (Du Toit); `... 'n eie naturellestaat in S.A. met 'n groot
mate van outonomie, behalwe ten opsigte van sy buitelandse beleid waar die Unieregering
alleen seggenskap sal heÃ.' (Hugo). UP, Nel coll, 67, F P Smit, J J du Toit and T J Hugo (no date).
Similar views were expressed by W J Wentzel, A M van Zijl, 15 Sept 1947 and C A Hollenbach, 12
Oct 1947.
31 UP, Nel coll, 67, F P Smit, A M van Zijl and J J F van Schoor.
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Transvaal and Zululand, while whites should inhabit the rest of South
Africa.32
The need for their own industries in African areas, was also
mentioned.33 Contrary to Prof T H le Roux's vague and idealistic
notion: Ìt is of utmost importance that the non-white takes up his
rightful place in the economic life of the country,'34 S Viljoen and the
Rev Wentzel had more practical considerations in mind. Viljoen deemed
decentralisation of industries very necessary in order to halt the
uncontrolled flocking together (samedromming) of Africans in cities,
whereas Wentzel logically tied it to job opportunities.35 Of the
respondents who addressed the issue, only F P Smit wondered about
the costs of such undertakings. He speculated about the possibility of
granting white capitalist entrepreneurs the opportunity to develop
these industries but warned against `large-scale exploitation' (grootskaalse uitbuiting). This was of course similar to one of Dr H F
Verwoerd's objections in years to come, to the recommendation of the
Tomlinson commission regarding the economic upliftment of the
homelands.36 Smit suggested that concessions to white developers
could be granted for smaller undertakings, but for larger ones a new
form of trade association was required ± one in which investor,
entrepreneur and the African people of the area would each possess a
share. In addition, home industries should be investigated and
encouraged.37 C A Hollenbach, who according to his own communication, had been working for a life time with African workers in the
building industry, had some revolutionary ideas compared with those
of other respondents. He was not only of the opinion that African people
should be allowed to perform skilled labour, but that they should also
not be restricted from establishing their own shops, restaurants,
tailoring shops, garages, etc. In his own words: àllow those with
32 Às gevolg van die laksheid van die Departement is die reserwes alreeds in woestyne
omgeskep.' And further: `Veldmanne (en nie kantoorklerkies nie) is dringend nodig om die
vraagstuk wetenskaplik en oordeelkundig aan te pak. Word dit nie gedoen nie, is grootskaalse
toestroming na die stede onvermydelik.' UP, Nel coll, 30, G H van Rooyen, 1 Aug 1947.
33 For example UP, Nel coll, 67, Ehlers and Wentzel.
34 `Dis v.d. [sic] grootste belang dat die nie-blanke sy regmatige plek inneem in die ekonomiese
lewe v.d. [sic] land.' UP, Nel coll, 67, T H le Roux, 3 Dec 1947.
35 UP, Nel coll, 67, S Viljoen, 26 Jan 1948; Wentzel.
36 For an analysis of the Tomlinson report, see Adam Ashforth, On the `Native question': A reading
of the grand tradition of commissions of inquiry into the `Native question' in twentiethcentury South Africa (Ph D thesis, Oxford University, 1987), chapter 6.
37 UP, Nel coll, 67, F P Smit.
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ambition and who are successful a better life than the lazy, ignorant or
self-satisfied unskilled kaffirs'.38
The urbanisation of Africans during the war years evidently had an
impact on Afrikaner thought, particularly that of the urbanised
Afrikaner. Despite the humane nature of some memoranda regarding
the need for a better life for Africans in the cities and towns, social
control over these urbanised Africans underpinned most ideas.
Increasing urbanisation among African people in the cities bothered
F P Smit and he partly blamed continuing arbitrary wage increases for
the problem. He rejected the theory that high wages would increase the
country's buying power, which in turn would be beneficial to the
producer, arguing that the high wages enabled Africans to waste money
on `worthless novelties ... and to work for a month and then loaf for the
next month. That means a lowering of production which in turn raises
costs of production'.39 Smit's suggestion that the numbers of
unemployed Africans in cities and towns should be reduced was
echoed by a minister of Louis Trichardt, and his practical recommendations were certainly not drawn from Scripture. `Nobody without a
job should be allowed into a town or city ± 9 o'clock in the evening a
bell should ring signalling that all black or yellow people should be
out ± those who have jobs should carry a pass, and should live in town
or urban locations with their families.'40 Passes for African people were
also favoured by J D Malan of Nelspruit in order to control their
movement, though J J du Toit thought that passbooks should be
replaced by a new system of identification which should apply to both
Africans and whites.41
Decent living conditions for urban Africans were generally mentioned
by a number of respondents, but none contained more detail than Du
Toit's memorandum. He warned against slum conditions which could
potentially be à hot-bed of epidemic diseases which could be fatal to
white and non-white'.42 He envisaged hygienic, simple, practical,
efficient and aesthetical locations which would conform to the best
38 Èn laat die wat ambisie het en suks[es]vol is 'n betere lewe voer as die lui, onnosele of
tevredene [sic] ongeskoolde kaffers.' UP, Nel coll, 67, C A Hollenbach, 12 Oct 1947.
39 `Waardelose blinkgoedjies ... en om 'n maand te werk en die volgende maand leeg te leÃ. Dit
beteken dat produksie verlaag en produksiekoste verhoog word.' UP, Nel coll, 67, F P Smit.
40 `Niemand mag in 'n dorp of stad kom wat nie werk het nie ± saans 9 uur moet 'n klok lui en al
wat swart of geel is moet uit ± vir hul [sic] wat werk het, moet 'n pas dra, en moet in dorp- en
stads lokasies met hul families woon.' UP, Nel coll, 67, Rev J J F van Schoor.
41 UP, Nel coll, 67, J D Malan, 31 July 1947; J J du Toit.
42 ` 'n Broeines van epidemies wat noodlottig kan wees vir blank en nie-blank.' UP, Nel coll, 67,
J J du Toit.
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African tradition of hut building. He even specified: `To my mind the
rondavel [a round hut] with a thatched roof, arranged in concentric
circles would be ideal.' Du Toit also showed concern about recreation
for urban Africans, and suggested 'native games ... like those played in
the mine compounds'. Apart from that he thought that films could be
used to good effect, `but the type of film shown should not evoke crime'.
He also prescribed youth organisations to cultivate good habits among
the urban African youth. However, it should not be an imitation of the
`Boy Scouts' or `Voortrekkers' [an Afrikaner youth movement], `but
should rather be in line with native life. The uniform should be typical
of the black person ± a red blanket or something similar'.43
These Afrikaner thinkers were particularly concerned with cultural
identity and education. The development of the African peoples' own
heritage was often accentuated. `Because it is the non-white's birth
right to live here, I am of the opinion that it is advisable and beneficial
in general if we enable him to live his life according to his own
customs,' A M van Zijl wrote.44 Without nurturing their own culture,
`cultural impoverishment' (kulturele verarming) would inevitably
follow, according to S P van der Walt. Èach race has its own musical
instruments, its own pipe, its own traditions. Racial pride of own
possessions should be emphasised and the whites' appreciation of it be
encouraged.'45 There was, however, no doubt in the minds of the
respondents that the `development of the own' should be directed by
Afrikaner thought. Foreign influences, particularly emanating from
communist sources and the English churches were seen as highly
detrimental and should be warded off through all possible means.46 As
one respondent saliently spelled it out: `We should protect the nonwhite against foreign evils and dogmas by eliminating economic
adversities which form the breeding ground for foreign, dangerous
dogmas; by censoring literature and films properly; and by making
positive propaganda for the Christian Afrikaner viewpoint in the form
ÐÐÐÐÐÐÐÐ
43 `M.i. is die rondawel met grasdak, in groot konsentriese kringe gerangskik die ideaal';
'naturelle-spele ... soos in die myn-kompounds gedoen word'; `maar die tipe prent moet nie 'n
prikkel tot misdaad wees nie' ; `maar moet meer aanpas by die naturelle-lewe. Die uniform
moet tipies v.d. naturel wees ± 'n rooi kombers of so iets.' UP, Nel coll, 67, J J du Toit.
44 `Daar dit die geboorte reg van die nie-blanke is om hier te woon, beskou ek dit as raadsaam en
van algemene voordeel as ons hom in staat stel om sy lewe te lei [sic] volgens sy eie
gewoontes.' UP, Nel coll, 67, A M van Zijl.
45 Èlke ras het sy eie musiekinstrumente, sy eie pyp, sy eie volkstradisies. Die rassetrots op
hierdie eie goed moet benadruk word, die blanke waardering daarvoor geprikkel word.' UP,
Nel coll, 67, S P van der Walt, no date.
46 UP, Nel coll, 67, M W Retief.
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Kleio XXXII, 2000
of proper, constructive, healthy literature ± a native newspaper to
begin with.'47 One respondent suggested that Africans should be
involved in the research and recording of their own cultural heritage
but was quick to add ànd he (the African person) should be taught not
to evaluate his situation in terms of European criteria.'48
Though specified as point 17 in Nel's circular a significant number of
memoranda contained no reference to education. Given the strong
overtones of inferiority bestowed upon the African people by many of
the respondents, it is not surprising that many regarded the education
of Africans as a waste of time and money. There were nevertheless
some strong sentiments to the contrary. Èducation of the native, based
on the Christian national view of life can never be a threat to the
whites; ignorance, however, can. Therefore no form of education for
which the non-white is sufficiently mature should be withheld from
him. If the Afrikaner does not offer this [education], somebody else
will, and in that case probably from a perspective that is hostile or
unsympathetic [towards the Afrikaner].' More facilities for African
education should be created, but education should be separate (no
`deurmekaarboerdery').49 Prof T H le Roux, well-known philologist
made it clear that education should take place in separate institutions
to avoid social equality.50 Education in the vernacular should be
introduced, and the Africans' own culture should be cherished. The
Afrikaans churches should control African education.51 All these
suggestions became familiar rhetoric within the Christian-national
vocabulary. Added to this, the significant qualification followed:
Èducation for the [African] masses should be focussed essentially on
technical, agricultural and/or domestic science education ± in order to
conform to their own culture and natural ability. Biased aversion [by
Africans] to `practical' education and preference for àcademic'
47 `Die nie-blanke moet teen vreemde euwels en leerstellinge beskerm word deurdat ons
ekonomiese wantoestande, wat die teelaarde vir vreemde gevaarlike leerstellings is,
uitskakel; lektuur en rolprente behoorlik sensureer; positiewe propaganda vir die ChristenAfrikaner se standpunt maak in die vorm van behoorlike, opbouende, gesonde lektuur ± in die
eerste instansie 'n naturelleblad.' UP, Nel coll, 67, J J du Toit. The need to indoctrinate the
black masses through a magazine in the indigenous languages is also stressed by M W Retief.
48 èn hy [the African person] moet geleer word om sy toestand nie in terme van Europese
maatstawwe te probeer meet nie.' UP, Nel coll, 67, F P Smit.
49 Òpvoeding van die naturel, gebaseer op die Christelike, nasionale lewens- en weÃreldbeskouing, kan vir die blanke nooit 'n gevaar wees nie, onkunde wel. Daarom behoort geen vorm van
onderwys waarvoor die nie-blanke ryp is, aan hom weerhou te word nie. As die Afrikaner dit
nie gee nie, gee iemand anders dit tog, en dan bes moontlik uit 'n standpunt wat die Afrikaner
vyandig of onsimpatiek gesind is.' UP, Nel coll, 67, J J du Toit.
50 UP, Nel coll, 67, T H le Roux.
51 UP, Nel coll, 67, F P Smit; Rev J J F van Schoor.
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training should, where necessary, be discouraged in a tactful way.'52
C A Hollenbach reiterated the point from a different perspective,
namely that school education frustrated African people because it made
them believe they were entitled to white collar office jobs. Since these
were not readily available, they had to fall back on manual labour.
More technical schools (ambagskole) were needed.53 These suggestions, particularly the idea of education in line with Afrikaner thinking,
epitomised the broad philosophy which underpinned Bantu education
for a considerable period in later years.
Point no 1 of De Wet Nel's draft scheme (werkskema), `Scope and
significance of the colour question,'54 clearly distinguished three
subsections: `Coloured question', Ìndian question' and 'native question'. However, the majority of responses ignored the threefold nature
of the issue as stipulated in the circular, preferring to focus only on the
Africans. Those who made the distinction were almost unanimous in
their verdict that the Indian people should be repatriated.55 One
respondent probably represented the majority sentiment by adding 'no
matter what it would cost the Union [of South Africa]'.56 These words
echoed the statement in parliament in March 1946 by the Transvaal NP
leader, J G Strijdom.57 But the views of Afrikaners (both NP and UP
members) as well as those of many English speaking whites on the
subject of South African Indians had been forged and nurtured long
before the 1940s. Indians were described as non-assimilable and the
competition of Indian merchants in business was dreaded. Afrikaners
were actively discouraged from buying from Indians.58
A policy towards the Coloured people seemed to be less clear cut to
Nel's correspondents. Though one extremist thought that it would be a
good idea if Coloureds were absorbed by Africans,59 at least two others
expressed concern that Coloureds might be swamped by Africans and
that they should receive protection from African competition in their
52 `Die onderwys vir die massa moet oorwegend tegnies, landbou- en/of huishoudkundig wees
om by eie kultuur en volksaanleg te pas. Bevooroordeelde teeÈsin vir 'n ``praktiese'' en
voorliefde vir 'n `àkademiese'' opleiding, behoort, waar nodig, op taktvolle wyse bestry te
word.' UP, Nel coll, 67, J J du Toit.
53 UP, Nel coll, 67, C A Hollenbach.
54 Omvang en betekenis van die kleurvraagstuk.
55 UP, Nel coll, 67, Rev J J F van Schoor; J J du Toit; D L Ehlers; J D Malan.
56 Àl kos dit die Unie wat ook al.' UP, Nel coll, 67, J D Malan.
57 J L Basson, J G Strijdom: Sy politieke loopbaan van 1929 tot 1948 (Pretoria, Wonderboomuitgewers, 1980), p 490.
58 P W Coetzer and J H le Roux (eds), Die Nasionale Party, Deel 4: Die `Gesuiwerde' Nasionale
Party, 1934±1940 (Bloemfontein, INEG, 1986), pp 73±76.
59 UP, Nel coll, 67, Rev J J F van Schoor.
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traditional areas.60 Though most of the memoranda contained only a
paragraph on the Coloured people, the Rev J de Villiers of Claremont
who, according to his own communication, had been working among
the Coloured people for more than 33 years, devoted his whole
submission (four pages) to the Coloured people. De Villiers, probably
influenced by the massive anti-communist propaganda of the Afrikaans
press, was of the opinion that the interests of the more educated elite
among the Coloured people should be considered. What counted for him
was that they were still anti-communist, but he warned that this could
easily change if proper provision were not made for Coloureds in future
policy. Although he mentioned that many Coloured people who lived in
newly built segregated residential areas were quite content with their
environment, he also believed that to force highly civilised Coloured
people currently living in white areas into Coloured areas, would be
grossly unfair. He feared alienation of Coloured people from white
Afrikaners. `The way Afrikaners treat the better class among the
Coloureds on trains, buses and in public places and shops causes anger
towards the Afrikaners.' He also advised that Nel's commission should
make contact with Coloured leaders.61
Some other respondents also hinted at befriending the Coloured
people, though these thoughts were tentative and not clearly articulated.62 In one of the memoranda the idea of an own Coloured area,
`somewhere in the Western Province' (ìewers in die Westelike
Provinsie') was mentioned, though the respondent admitted that it
would be difficult to separate the Coloured people from whites.63
There were also those who quite rightly expressed reservations as to
whether an investigation into the race question should be launched by a
political party. Two academics, Dr J Chris Coetzee of the Potchefstroom
University and Dr W van H Beukes of the University of Pretoria were
convinced that the race issue should be elevated above the level of
party politics. Dr N J van Warmelo of the Department of Native Affairs
had a similar view and declined an invitation to serve on a
subcommittee for anthropology.64 Earlier, in February 1947, the Rev
J G Strydom, General Secretary of the Mission (Algemene Sendingsekretaris) of the Dutch Reformed Church in the Free State in a letter to
60 UP, Nel coll, 67, S Viljoen; Nel coll, 30, J G Bastiaanse, 29 July 1947.
61 UP, Nel coll, 67, Rev J de Villiers, 29 July 1947.
62 UP, Nel coll, 30, Rev J D Jansen, 31 July 1947; 30, J Fourier, 9 Aug 1947.
63 UP, Nel coll, 67, D L Ehlers.
64 UP, Nel coll, 30, J Chr Coetzee-Nel, 28 Aug1947; 30, W van H Beukes-Nel, 6 Aug 1947; 30, NelN J van Warmelo, 22 July 1947; Van Warmelo-Nel (undated note on Nel's letter).
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DF Malan, also advocated an investigation outside the sphere of party
politics.65
5 Some conclusions
Although the circular of 21 June 1947 can be regarded as the first phase
of the commission's work, it does not mean that the commission's
proceedings followed a sequential pattern. More than one action was
undertaken at a time and the outcome of the memoranda did not
necessarily determine how the process would develop further. Between
April and December 1947 the commission met five times (twice in
Pretoria and three times in Cape Town).66 In November 1947 Nel sent
some of the shorter memoranda (undoubtedly those from people who
responded to the circular of 21 June to E G Jansen requesting him to
circulate them also among other members of the commission. Nel also
summarised those views that, according to his judgement, were most
important and made copies available to other commission members.67
A perusal of Nel's summary68 reveals that although the essence of
most of the memoranda reflected in the contents of his resume, those
opinions which deviated from consensus of opinion, were simply
ignored by him, probably because they reflected a minority standpoint
and also because they did not fit into the framework of mainstream
apartheid thinking. The secretary obviously did not deem it necessary
to waste the committee's time with minority opinion. That is why his
`summary of views' (`saamgevatte beskouinge') contained no reference
to consultation with Africans or Coloured leaders or suggestions to
allow African people to do skilled work and to establish their own
businesses in white areas.
Evaluating the significance of the shorter memoranda responding to
the Sauer commission's circular of 21 June 1947 logically implies a
comparison with the contents of the final report which appeared in
March the following year. How did the views of the òrdinary' Afrikaner
on the street (and perhaps also the `less ordinary' but nevertheless not
involved in active politics) on race relations influence the apartheid
`blueprint'? When the submissions of individuals and subcommittees
other than those who received the general circular of 21 June are
closely studied, the resemblance between certain of these and the final
65 UP, Nel coll, 67, Rev J G Strydom-D F Malan, 21 Feb 1947.
66 INCH, PV18, C R Swart coll, 3/1/52, Nel-DF Malan, 10 March 1948.
67 INCH, PV94, E G Jansen coll, 1/22/3/1, Nel-Jansen, 17 Nov 1947; UP, Nel coll 67, `Die
kleurbeleid van 1948'.
68 Saamgevatte beskouinge uit kortere memoranda.
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Sauer report is obvious. In particular the report sent in by the two
Stellenbosch academics N J J Olivier and B I C van Eeden corresponds
closely with the Sauer report, except for the judiciary and mission
aspects, which it did not address in particular, and also issues
surrounding the Coloureds and Indians whom they explained did not
fall within the ambit of their assignment.69 Then there is the report by
the Cape HNP on a policy towards the Coloured people which
undoubtedly inspired the final report,70 as well as the memorandum
by Theo Wassenaar, chairman of the Native Affairs Committee
(Naturellesake Komitee) of the Transvaal Agricultural Union, which
provided important guidelines for the regulation of the African labour
force between the agricultural and industrial sectors.71 Dr W W M
Eiselen's memorandum encapsulates the essence of apartheid principles expressed by other writings, without containing much detail.72 In
fact, the papers which were presented at the People's Congress
(Volkskongres) of 1944 and the conclusive report which was drawn
up also contained some of the essential elements of the final Sauer
report.73
Considering this evidence, one may possibly have some reservations
about the influence which the responding memoranda following the
circular of 21 June 1947 had on the final apartheid product. What
cannot be denied is that the ideas expressed in them show a
considerable degree of correspondence with the contents of the final
report, especially where general principles of racial separation and
domination are concerned.
The question can be asked whether it was necessary at all to gauge
public opinion, particularly in the light of the existing general
expositions of apartheid policy at the time. Would the construction of
such a policy by a few experts not have been sufficient and more
effective? To my mind the commission followed the appropriate road
for its purposes. The idea of consulting 'nationalist-minded' Afrikaners
69 UP, Nel coll, 67, `Voorstelle i.v.m. 'n rassebeleid vir die H.N.P.' and letter B I C van Eeden and
N J J Olivier-Nel, 2 Dec 1947.
70 INCH, PV94, E G Jansen coll, 1/22/3/1, `Verslag van die kommissie aangestel deur die H.N.P.
van Kaapland insake beleid van die Nasionale Party teenoor die kleurlinge'.
71 UP, Nel coll, 67, `Naturellewette, kommissie van ondersoek', compiled by Theo Wassenaar, no
date. This is the only memorandum by any Agricultural Union presented to the Sauer commission.
Posel's work creates the impression that the Sauer report was based on reports by institutions
such as the SAAU. This is not the case. See Posel, `The meaning of apartheid before 1948',
pp 123±139.
72 UP, Nel coll, 67, `Gesigspunte in verband met ons kleurvraagstuk' (Dr Eiselen), no date.
73 See INCH, PV94, Jansen coll, 1/53/2/2, papers by G CronjeÂ, J G Strydom, J H Greyvenstein, and
also `Besluite van die Volkskongres' [1944].
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outside the traditional political sphere not only offered to the party
leadership the opportunity to gain potentially useful insights for policy
formulation, but was also in line with the party's tradition of
considering its constituencies at grass roots level, something which
the United Party failed to do with devastating consequences in the long
run. It was National Party political acumen at its best. Airing their
views on important national issues (landsake) might have reminded the
older generation of the 1940s of the petitions (memories) which the
citizens of the old ZAR had sent in to express their views on public
matters, and which had played an important role in the formation of
state policy.
From the perspective of apartheid formulation the memoranda reflect
a specific group mentality which had been shaped in the wake of
increasing industrialisation and African urbanisation since the outbreak of the Second World War. Afrikaners, who had just begun to feel
the impact of the Afrikaner economic movement which delivered them
from the bondage of poverty and inferiority, felt as threatened by the
`black peril' (swart gevaar) as in the past, and the Sauer commission
offered a unique opportunity to the individual to contribute to a new
dispensation in which white supremacy, which would inevitably be
transformed into Afrikaner supremacy, would be guaranteed. But at the
same time the majority of respondents also showed their commitment
to granting to the Africans and Coloureds, freedom to develop to full
'nationhood', built on the foundations of Afrikaner Calvinist thought.
The precondition was that that process did not interfere with the
political, cultural and material interests of `white South Africa'. That
was in line with the Afrikaner's traditional conception of democracy
and fairness, now also confirmed and formalised by a younger
generation of articulate intellectuals.
Finally, these memoranda, as briefly mentioned at the beginning of
the paper, also reflect the multifarious complexion of apartheid
thinking. There is no evidence in the memoranda or in the rest of the
Sauer commission documents that the interests of a particular group or
class were given preference to others. Recent interpretations of
apartheid have placed a heavy emphasis on the regulation of African
labour through means of influx control, as Norval has indicated. Total
or selective apartheid have been interpreted solely or mainly in terms
of the needs of capitalism. Though the consistent provision of a costeffective African labour force was covertly and overtly mooted in the
Sauer documents, the `voice of the people' of the 1940s had more to say
than that.
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Julie Pridmore: Victorian `medievalisms'
Reconstructing the middle ages:
some Victorian `medievalisms'1
Julie Pridmore
`History often sneaks itself into our present by enriching our language.'2
One of the few unequivocal statements which can be made about the
nineteenth century medieval revival is that ìt was complex in its
origins and diverse in its manifestations'.3 `No period was used so
promiscuously and unhistorically in the nineteenth century as the
Middle Ages'.4 If the Victorians did have another historical field which
occupied their consciousness as much as the medieval period, it was
undoubtedly the seventeenth century. Although the`Whig' rhetoric with
its inherent belief in the success of the 1688 revolution occupied an
ideologically dominant position in politics and public life, current
debate could not be isolated from a view of the past, even if it had, in
the course of the eighteenth century as Roy Strong suggests, diluted
and softened to the extent that opinions that could never be expressed
publicly in 1795 became harmlessly nostalgic in the 1850s.5 As Burrow
noted, commenting on the ideological intensity of the visual iconography expressed in Yeams's picture When did you last see your
father?: `Cavalier and Puritan, High Church and Dissent, were still two
cultures, confronting each other across a table ... As the historian Lecky
said, ``We are Cavaliers and Roundheads before we are Liberals and
Conservatives'' '.6 If Yeams and his contemporaries captured the visual
1
This article was presented as a paper with the same title to the Unisa Medieval Association in
August 1999. My thanks to members of this seminar series who provided suggestions and
additions.
2
D K Simonton, Greatness: who makes history and why (London and New York, 1994), p 4.
3
R Chapman, The sense of the past in Victorian literature (London, 1986), p 33.
4
R Gilmour, The Victorian period: the intellectual and cultural context of English literature,
1830±1890 (London, 1993), p 45.
5
R Strong, And when did you last see your father? The Victorian painter and British history
(London, 1978), p 136.
6
J W Burrow, À sense of the past' in L Lerner, (ed), The Victorians (London, 1978), p 123.
84
Kleio XXXII, 2000
political iconography of their age, it was the historian T B Macaulay
who personified the `Whig interpretation of history', which had, as its
stated aim, `to praise those accounts of the English past which
celebrated it as revealing a continuous, on the whole uninterrupted and
generally glorious story of constitutional progress'.7 Macaulay became
the perfect spokesman for this practical secular centre of English
opinon and the ultimate representative of Victorian culture.8 Leaving
aside the intense presentness of the past of the 1688 revolution for a
moment, the uppermost `historical event' in English minds in the first
half of the nineteenth century was the French Revolution, already
highlighted in the British literary imagination by Edmund Burke's
Reflections on the Revolution in France published in 1790. Macaulay,
writing 40 years later, was deeply aware of his role and considered that
his narrative `had a deep significance for this first readers, watching
the nations of Europe sink one by one from convulsive anarchy back
into despotism and seeing, in the recovered unity, as much as in the
prosperity of England, a triumphant vindication of the historic English
way'.9 For the revolution, points out Bedarida, `had never reached
England. The Establishment in England had held its ground, the English
proletariat never rose in rebellion... the country experienced no
barricades, no rivers of blood, no lasting hatreds. For Macaulay, the
explanation lay in history and he appointed himself its spokesman. If
England knew no revolution in the nineteenth century, it was because
she had carried out her own revolution in the seventeenth century'.10
Eighteenth-century historians, writing during the enlightenment,
have been seen as having a negative view of the middle ages.
Nevertheless, as Strong has demonstrated, the medieval iconography
of the romantic period was considerable, as evidenced for instance in
Benjamin West's series of paintings of Edward III from 1787±9.11
England's foremost narrative historian of the same period, Edward
Gibbon, was not, contrary to popular belief, completely indifferent to
the middle ages which he overlooked in favour of his main research
topic, the history of the Roman Empire. Gibbon, writing before the
French Revolution, certainly saw the decline of Rome as history's
sternest moral lesson, but his initial researches into writing history
7
J Clive, Not by fact alone: essays on the reading and writing of history (New York, 1989),
p 126.
8
G L Levine, The boundaries of fiction: Carlyle, Macaulay, Newman, (Princeton, 1968), p 79.
9
G M Young, Portrait of an age: Victorian England (London, 1936), p 89.
10 F Bedarida, A social history of England, 1851±1990 (London, 1991), p 82.
11 Strong, And when did you last see your father?, pp 79±85.
85
Kleio XXXII, 2000
included ideas on biographies of Edward III and Henry V.12 However,
there can be no getting around the point, notes Roy Porter, that Latin
Christendom was, for Gibbon, in a ferment produced by the mixing of
Rome and the Goths, post-barbarian Europe progressed slowly and
took centuries to recover. Chivalry for Gibbon was mere barbarity: ìf
heroism be confined to brutal and ferocious valour, Richard Plantagenet will stand high among the heroes of the age'.13 Thomas Paine,
who argued so vigorously for human rights in his 1791 work The rights
of man, pointed out that monarchy in England had been initiated by à
French bastard landing with an armed banditti and establishing himself
King of England against the consent of the natives, is in plain terms a
very paltry rascally original. It certainly hath no divinity in it'.14
The earliest origins of what Simmons terms `reversing the conquest'15 are traceable to the reign of Elizabeth I when, as McDougall
noted, Alfred the Great effectively ousted Arthur as the greatest early
king of Britain.16 Both McDougall and Simmons concur that the
nineteenth-century idea of `Teutonic' racial superiority as embodied
in a broadly defined Ànglo-Saxonism' was given its greatest impetus by
the publication of Sharon Turner's History of the Anglo-Saxons
published between 1799 and 1805 and his second set of volumes
entitled History of the manners, landed property, government, laws,
poetry, literature, religion and language of the Anglo-Saxons,
published from 1814 to 1825. Turner's expertise lay in his knowledge
of Anglo-Saxon sources, contemporary documents and insight into the
language, culture and literature of the middle ages, starting with
Beowulf as an example of Anglo-Saxon culture.17 Turner's detailed
investigation was in distinct contrast to that of Henry Hallam, who
produced his View of the state of Europe during the middle ages in
1818 and still adopted an enlightenment approach and judged the
medieval period by the standards of his own day.18 For Hallam, the
period of time before the twelfth century was `so barren of events
worthy of remembrance, that a single sentence or paragraph is often
sufficient to given the character of entire generations, and of long
12 R Porter, Edward Gibbon: making history (London, 1988), p 60.
13 Ibid, p 146.
14 Quoted in J Sambrook, The eighteenth century: the intellectual and cultural context of English
literature, 1700±1789 (London, 1986), p 96.
15 C A Simmons, Reversing the conquest: history and myth in nineteenth-century British
literature (London and New Brunswick, 1990), p 25.
16 H A McDougall, Racial myth in English history: Trojans, Teutons and Anglo-Saxons,
(Montreal, 1982).
17 Simmons, Reversing the conquest, p 55.
18 R Hale, The evolution of British historiography (London, 1967), pp 38±9.
86
Kleio XXXII, 2000
dynasties of obscure kings'.19 Turner had begun the unravelling
process of `reversing the conquest' and establishing English customs
as superior. He was followed by Sir Francis Palgrave (best remembered
as the famous editor of the Golden Treasury) who approached legal
matters according to the property rights of Saxon England and gave the
Norman conquest period little influence on English law. `Traditionally,
the Normans had been ancestors of the aristocracy, and Palgrave's
history portrayed them as ruffianly adventurers.'20 This early nineteenth century knowledge of the conquest period was extremely slight
and unsystematic as evidenced by early reviews of Walter Scott's
Ivanhoe. Augustin Thierry's Historie de la Conquete de L'Angleterre
par les Normandes, first published in 1825, was the first full-length
study of Britain in the Anglo-Norman period, and thus had a strong
influence. However, due to the limited research available, Thierry's
organising principle came directly from the Ivanhoe text, and he
stressed the paramount importance of distinction between `free'
Saxons and ùsurping' Normans, a concept based on Scott's sense of
Saxon identity after the conquest.21
Not all English historians agreed with this view. Carlyle whose
French Revolution had contributed towards setting the scene for the
`Whig' historical tradition in 1837, continued his politically correct
publishing career with Chartism in 1839. Carlyle reversed Thierry's
binary opposition of Saxon and Norman and transferred the idea of
`progress' from Saxons to 'new Normans'. While the Chartists called
for an end to Norman domination, Carlyle contended that England
actually needed new Normans whose authority was not based on
inheritance but on merit.22 Carlyle's Norman world was one in which
laissez-faire was replaced by strong, involved government: the working
man was not left to starve.23
Chartism was not the only controversial issue in the early Victorian
Britain of the 1830s and 1840s. In 1845, leading churchman John
Newman, having left the Church of England for Roman Catholicism,
published his Essay on the development of Christian doctrine. The
consequences of the `Newman controversy', as it was soon labelled,
were extremely far-reaching for both the established Church as well as
the growing evangelical movement. At the centre of religious conÐÐÐÐÐÐÐÐÐÐÐ
19 A D Culler, The Victorian mirror of history (New Haven, 1985), p 153.
21 Ibid, pp 91±2.
22 Ibid, p 97.
23 Ibid, p 99.
87
Kleio XXXII, 2000
troversy for historians, however, was not Newman or his followers, but
the medieval figure, Thomas Beckett. Beckett could be an historical
figure from almost any perspective, either as maligned saint or
ordinary individual, a good Saxon Englishman or a corrupt Norman
as historians like James Robertson and Eric Stanley demonstrated.
Robertson rejected asceticsm, claiming that the very vocation of
monasticism was un-English. A celibate priesthood was a particular
abomination and most of the exponents of mid-nineteenth century
Ànglo Saxonism' were staunchly Church of England and included in
their ranks well-known figures such as Charles Kingsley and Edward
Freeman. In Kingsley's opinion, for instance, the Roman orders were
virtually equivalent to emasculation.24
For MacDougall, the second half of the nineteenth century was the
apogee of Englishmen's confidence and pride of achievement as
Victorian historians allowed their enthusiasm for their Anglo-Saxon
inheritance to reach unprecedented heights. Moving beyond Britain
into the empire, Kingsley, as professor of modern history at Cambridge,
used his post to espouse the cause of Anglo-Saxon protestantism in a
rhetoric of universal mission in keeping up `Teutonic traditions'
worldwide.25 J R Seeley, who succeeded Kingsley, viewed the empire
as being united by `blood and religion' in his 1883 text, the Expansion
of England, and Bishop William Stubbs, professor of modern history at
Oxford from 1866 to 1884 who had the greatest confidence in all
English institutions with Teutonic origins and reached back to the
medieval period for teaching material, considering seventeenth-century
constitutional issues as too politically close to contemporary life.
Stubbs' ideas were embodied in his substantial work, the Constitutional history of England, published between 1874 and 1878. As well
as giving precedence to their own politically correct versions of the
past, Stubbs and his generation, as the first professional university
historians, placed matters of religious ideology over empiricism when it
came to writing their narratives. J A Froude for instance maintained a
staunch anti-Catholic stance and justified the English protestant
presence in Ireland according to inferior Celtic, Catholic racial
characteristics. This approach was clearly evident in both Froude's
main works, History of England published in 12 volumes between
1865 and 1870 and his imperial history Oceana in 1886. It was not
until the end of the Victorian period that this essentially ProtestantÐÐÐÐÐÐÐÐÐÐÐ
24 Ibid, p 130.
25 McDougall, Racial myth in English history, p 102.
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Kleio XXXII, 2000
Teutonic connection was challenged by Lord Acton, Seeley's successor
at Cambridge. Acton, in contrast to his predecesssor, held a firm belief
in a Catholic-Teutonic constitution as the highest guarantee of freedom.
As founder of the English Historical Review in 1886 and first editor of
the Cambridge modern history, and in the context of the nineteenthcentury German influence on a more scientific historiographical
approach, Acton stayed faithful to an ideological view of the mythical
relationship between primitive Teutonic rights and the development of
an Ènglish' constitution.26 Despite Macaulay's emphasis on social
history, politics remained the dominant theme for English historians;
anything else was not considered professional as Freeman showed in
his criticism of J R Green's Short history of the English people, first
published in 1874.27
Lerner has recently pointed out that `the interweaving of history and
fiction is an exercise of power in textual portrayals'.28 The crucial
fiction for nineteenth-century British historians was Walter Scott's
novel Ivanhoe which enchanted the whole Victorian generation with
ideas of ancient beauty, antiquity and mystery.29 Through this text,
Scott effectively invented the historical novel as a genre, thereby
inciting a wholly new interest in the past, and ìn the customs and
manners and personalities of ages remote from the civilised present'.30
Scott's ideology was ultimately a type of Whiggish conservatism which
`would have shocked those earlier Tories, Swift and Johnson because it
was based on complete acceptance of the 1688 revolution'.31 As an
enlightenment writer, Scott, like Gibbon, was highly critical of
medieval paradigms which he associated with feudal barbarism.
Against this world he juxtaposed his own rational anti-Jacobite culture
as the encapsulation of all that was representative of progress.32 The
pervasiveness of Ivanhoe was stressed by Thierry's history in which he
used the Saxon-against-Norman motif in an avowedly ideological
direction. Carlyle took this up, but in contrast to both Scott and
Thierry he confronted the political issues directly and used the Saxonagainst-Norman motif as a direct means of exploring the social reality
26 Ibid, pp 110±112.
27 P Burke, History and social theory (Cambridge, 1992), p 6.
28 L Lerner, The frontiers of literature (Oxford, 1988), p 94.
29 Young, Portrait of an age, p 80.
30 A Hook, Ìntroduction', Walter Scott, Waverley (Penguin edition, 1985 (1814)), p 10.
31 A Calder, Ìntroduction', Walter Scott, Old mortality (Penguin edition, 1975 (1816)), p 37.
32 G Kelly, `Romantic Fiction', in S Curran (ed), The Cambridge companion to British romanticism
(Cambridge, 1993), pp 211±212; A Day, Romanticism (London, 1996), p 126.
89
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of England. Hence, Carlyle's key historical fiction Past and present,
published in 1843, made use of the Saxon and Norman construct but
with the declared objective of providing serious social analysis.33
Carlyle rejected Thierry's reading of history where progress was
reached by a Saxon revolutionary undercurrent working against the
power structure. For Carlyle, the creation of a vigorous new power
structure was in itself a source of social improvement and the
possibilities for new Normans as Chartists had direct resonance with
the reign of Richard I.34
Culler, in his seminal work on this topic, describes Victorian
medievalism as `peculiarly static'. The middle ages seem not to have
been related by their admirers to the present by any process of historic
change, but were simply set over against the present as an ideal or
paradigm. Carlyle's Past and present was, for instance, not a reflection
in the `Victorian mirror of history', but rather a reverse image, an
ìmage of what was not'.35 The tradition which John Ruskin inherited in
the 1840s was that of a hideous present juxtaposed against a glorious
past. Culler views this as the key principle for Ruskin's influential
Seven lamps of architecture, published in 1849.36 Like most literary
traditions of the Victorian age, Culler finds it difficult to define the
identity given to Ruskin and his colleagues as `pre-Raphaelites' and
states unequivocally that ìt is fairly certain that the Pre-Raphaelite
Brotherhood would never have given themselves that name if they had
had any idea of the trouble it was going to bring upon them'.37 The
clearest explanation offered by Culler is his suggestion that the early
pre-Raphaelite pictures were distinctly modern because they were
medieval'.38 For D G Rossetti, the medieval world became a template
for an exploration of the psychological preoccupations of the Victorian
present. This was 'not a harmonious cathedral which happy workmen
have created as the expression of their hierarchical view of society, but
a dark wood or an oppressive chamber in which pale-faced lovers speak
wanly of their frustrated passions'.39 In similar vein, Polhemus has reexamined John Millais's preoccupation with child subjects noting that
Millais `made the child a crucial Victorian subject of faith, erotics and
33 Simmons, Reversing the conquest, pp 93±94.
34 Ibid, p 96±97.
35 Culler, The Victorian mirror of history, p 160.
36 Ibid, pp 167±169.
37 Ibid, p 218.
38 Ibid, p 225.
39 Ibid, p 231.
90
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moral concern'.40 These insights were, at one level, a direct reflection
of Victorian attitudes, behaviour and preoccupations.
These questions of repressed sexuality in mid-Victorian reconstructions of the world have been at the centre of scholarly debate in recent
decades. Tennyson, suggested novelist John Fowles in 1968, was ìn
full flight from Freud'.41 While recent analyses of both Tennyson and
Morris suggest a `sexual unwholesomeness' underlying their narratives
expressive of `gothic resonances',42 these interpretations are at one
level attempts at modern psychoanalysis which are attached outside of
any temporal grounding. They can also be seen as marginal to the core
issues in Victorian medievalism, when conceptualised in its broadest
possible historical terms. Tennyson's Camelot in the Idylls of the king
clearly involves an intensive and extensive use of sources as the basis
for its construction and forms and sexuality, while important,
constitutes only one set of moral dilemmas for the framework of the
narrative.43 What is crucial about Tennyson's text is that it disregards
the earlier nineteenth-century dilemma between Arthur and Alfred and
transposes Arthur into a constructed `high middle ages' that has very
little temporal framework and which was viewed by Victorian readers
as the authoritative version of the Arthurian legend. William Morris's
1858 collection of verse The defence of Guenevere and other poems
was, suggests Rebecca Cochran, either ignored or vehemently criticised. At one level this was a clear reaction from contemporaries who
disapproved of Morris's association with the pre-Raphaelites who were
widely perceived as unorthodox in sexual matters. More fundamentally, perhaps, was the fact that that Morris's reading audience was
partially familiar with the Arthurian legend as an idealised medieval
past.44
If the `Victorians' were concerned with reconstructing an idealised
past they were also fully engaged in constructing an idealised present.
Thomas Hughes, contemporary of both Tennyson and the PreRaphaelite artists, published his enormously popular Tom Brown's
schooldays in 1857, the same year as Tennyson's first volume on
40 R M Polhemus, `John Millais' children: faith and erotics: the Woodman's Daughter (1851)', in C T
Christ and J O Jordan, (eds), Victorian literature and the Victorian visual imagination,
(Berkeley, 1995), p 289.
41 J Fowles, The French lieutenant's woman (London, 1968), pp 31, 35.
42 See for instance S Prickett, Victorian fantasy (Hassocks, 1979), p 97.
43 See for instance D Staines, Tennyson's Camelot: the idylls of the king and its medieval sources
(Ontario, 1982), pp 28±9.
44 R Cochran, `William Morris: Arthurian innovator', in D N Mancoff (ed), The Arthurian revival:
essays on form, tradition and transformation (New York and London, 1992), pp 75±77.
91
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Arthur. This text rapidly became the definitive version of Thomas
Arnold's public school philosophy which included, among other
concerns, a loosely defined `manliness' as a behaviour code for the
sons of gentry in the aftermath of the 1832 Reform Bill. While Vance
has pointed out the immense complexities of the terms `Christian
manliness', first used in a pamphlet published by the Rev S Pugh in
1867, and `muscular Christianity', as used by several prominent
individuals of the Victorian period, he agrees with other scholars that
Hughes's narrative was a proxy for the school literature of the later
nineteenth century.45 As Gillian Avery notes: `the Tom Brown boy and
his traditions of manliness ... for the best part of a century it was a
world which rallied the young male.'46 Although Arnold was seen as an
innovator in introducing history as a school subject, this approach was
already outdated as it was based on the premise that history was by
necessity that of the ancient world as it could be studied from original
authorities who were literary historians. For Arnold, no contemporary
historian came close to the ancients, and he himself had supported the
introduction of ancient history as a new university subject at Oxford in
1830 and at Cambridge in 1831.47 Hughes himself does not seem to
have subscribed to this view and his ideas of the past were distinctly
focused on `Teutonic' traditions which had developed in the middle
ages. Tom Brown acquires his manly virtues which lead him and his
fellows to the far corners of the empire partly from being born and bred
à Wessex man, a citizen of the noblest Saxon kingdom of Wessex'.48 In
his 1859 text The scouring of the white horse Hughes re-emphasised
the importance of Saxon origins in British history where he has one of
his narrators stress the value of the Anglo-Saxon chronicle as a source
which `people sneer at ... nowadays, and prefer the Edda, and all sorts
of heathen stuff'.49 To reinforce Simmons's argument again, for
Hughes, Alfred (the Teuton) was a European of inifinitely greater
stature than his contemporary Charlemagne (the Frank).50 Hughes's
ideas of Teutonic virtues as evident in the upper classes of the midVictorian period were reinforced by his contemporary, Charles
45 N Vance, The sinews of the spirit: the ideal of Christian manliness in Victorian literature and
religious thought (Cambridge, 1985), pp 1±2, 136±142.
46 G Avery, Childhood's pattern: a study of the heroes and heroines of children's fiction 1770±
1950 (London, 1975) p 166.
47 R Jenkyns, The Victorians and ancient Greece (Oxford, 1980) pp 60±61.
48 T Hughes, Tom Brown's schooldays (Wordsworth edition, 1993), p 4.
49 T Hughes, The scouring of the white horse: or the long vacation ramble of a London clerk
(London, 1859), p 52.
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Kingsley. Susan Chitty sees Kingsley's concern with `manliness' as a
limiting factor in his appreciation of literature.51 This manliness meant
a proficiency in blood sports only attainable by the members of the
upper classes, ideas which Hughes associated with Arnold but which
have much wider associations with the later Victorian period.52
Hereward the Wake (1866) is a `carefully researched historical novel
which shows a deep knowledge of the Chronicle and a vivid picture of
what life was like in England during the conquest'. Hereward was,
however, a hero after Kingsley's own heart; `he symbolised the spirit of
bulldog English resistance to the French invaders and their monks. ...
In him Kingsley saw reflected the spirit of the schoolboy of his own
day'.53 Lewis Carroll's Ànglo Saxon' was somewhat different. In his
excellent analysis of Carroll's 'nonsense', Francis Huxley examines the
use of Anglo Saxon words as part of the game of nonsense. `This game
we may call Anglo-Saxon attitudes.' The `Jabberwocky', for instance
was first construed in 1855 with a glossary of Ànglo Saxon terms', a
dialect which formed the putative language in which the poem was
written.54 Francis Huxley has also noted the impressive level of
research into Saxon place-names evident in the Alice texts.55 Returning
once more to the Victorian occupation with the present, Roger Sale has
suggested that Carroll's sense of `loss' in the later novel is more
indicative of a personal withdrawal into obscurity, characteristic of the
`Victorian Age'.56
Escape from the social reality of this `Victorian Age' became of
paramount concern for its contemporaries when faced with unease of
the new order. Victorian medievalism can be viewed in this context as a
powerful social nostalgia for the shared and ordered life of the feudal
system, contrasted with inadequate poor relief, commercial greed and
the anarchy of uncontrolled competition.57 A definitive textual example
was William Cobbett's History of the Protestant reformation in
England and Ireland, published between1824 and 1826. For Cobbett,
the Norman conquest had interrupted the natural process of civil law
which secured property originating in labour by making the monarch
sole proprieter. Poor relief was thus a form of property and if it was
51 S Chitty, The beast and the monk: a life of Charles Kingsley (London, 1974), pp 158±9.
52 B Haley, The healthy body and Victorian culture (London, 1978), p 108.
53 Chitty, The beast and the monk, p 245.
54 F Huxley, The raven and the writing-desk (London,1976), pp 63±70.
55 Ibid, p 103.
56 R Sale, Fairy tales and after: from Snow White to E B White (Cambridge, Mass, 1978), p 117.
57 Burrow, À sense of the past', pp 130±131.
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denied, all property was jeopardised, and with it the very foundation of
society. The new Poor Law was not a new form of that ancient right, it
was an outright denial of it. By prescribing the kinds of conditions it
did ± workhouses and dissection ± the law in effect condemned the
indigent to slavery or death.58 Cobbett's writing was an instance of the
persuasive power of nineteenth-century rhetoric. Although his work
pre-dated the 1832 Anatomy Act, a belief in the legality of pauper
dissection was widely circulated as a result of the influence of this
texts. These alterities in society were reiterated by Augustus Pugin in
his 1836 publication, Contrasts. Pugin had converted to Roman
Catholicism in 1835 and associated the Gothic revival in architecture
with all that was positive in pre-Reformation English society. Pugin,
like Cobbett, emphasised the social difference between the relief of
poverty in the middle ages and the modern Poor Laws. In Pugin's
sketches for his text, as Yates comments in some detail: `The noble
monastic buildings are replaced by a utilitarian workhouse; a diet of
beef, mutton, bread and ale by one of bread and gruel; the poor person
in his quasi-monastic habit by a beggar in rags; the master dispensing
charity by a master wielding whips and chains; decent Christian burial
by the dispatch of the corpse for dissection by medical student; and the
discipline of an edifying sermon by that of a public flogging.'59 In a
sense, Pugin was responding to the systemisation of all areas of society,
perhaps most obvious in the penal and health systems, which marked
distinct changes from the medievally-constructed àncien regime',
changes which Foucault rooted in the late eighteenth century. In this
context, Pugin was a product of the `Romantic' rather than the
`Victorian' period. At the same time, the mid-nineteenth century
obsession with the body ± as demonstrated by concerns over dissection
± was a distinct outgrowth of the Gothic genre contained in the fictions
of the 1830s and 1840s. It was no coincidence, suggest some scholars,
that detective fiction emerged during this period, conveying the
Victorian interest in criminal underworlds.60
Nineteenth-century imaginative expression in English fiction was not
necessarily influenced by Cobbett, Pugin and the novelists for social
58 G Himmelfarb, The idea of poverty: England in the early industrial age (New York, 1984),
p 211.
59 N Yates, `Pugin and the medieval dream', in G Marsden, (ed), Victorian values: personalities and
perspectives in nineteenth-century society (London, 1990), p 65.
60 See D Porter, The pursuit of crime: art and ideology in detective fiction (New Haven, 1981),
pp 11±12; J Black, The aesthetics of murder: a study in romantic literature and contemporary
culture (Baltimore, 1991), pp 19±20.
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reform as represented as a genre loosely termed the `condition of
England' novel,61 but rather, as the reaction to William Morris had
indicated, by the ideas and images conjured up by Scott, Tennyson and
Kingsley. Though representations of `masculinity' for instance, were
redefined in response to the tensions and dissensions of the industrial
revolution,62 Mark Girourd has shown in his extensive analysis of
Victorian and Edwardian `chivalry' that the dominant visual images of
the period were those of a romanticised medievalism rather than a
harsh reality.63 Even Kingsley's working-class sympathies, fired by his
reading of Carlyle, were overshadowed by his constant awareness of
his role as a `gentleman as well as a clergyman'.64 By the midnineteenth century, as Gilmour has noted, `the medieval dream
eventually lost its edge of theological controversy and faded ... into
the everyday furniture of the Victorian imagination. In painting and
literature after 1850 medievalism became domesticated and in the
rediscovery of Arthurian legends, Saxon and Norman, Catholic and
Protestant, Past and Present became reconciled'.65 As Simmons
comments of the later nineteenth century
despite all the interest shown in the past, nineteenth century Britain had never become
a society in which Anglo-Saxon texts were best-sellers, or where ordinary families
would describe themselves as part of the ``Teuton kindred''. The historically-based
nationalism of the Liberals was an assumption not based on the reading of history as
much as on an acceptance of the myth of an enduring English spirit ... (revealing) itself
in much-read novels, in poetry and the visual arts, and in the popular press.66
The curious love-hate relationship of the Victorians between
romanticism and reality was well summed up by one of its society's
greatest critics, Oscar Wilde: `The nineteenth century dislike of Realism
is the rage of Caliban seeing his own face in a glass.67
The vast quantity of literature published in the Victorian period,
suggests Walvin, gives us a vital clue to the nature of that era.68 A
survey of domestic reading habits reveals that up to 89% of workingclass homes had books by 1840. During the course of the century, the
61 The `condition of England' genre usually includes the following novels: Disraeli's Coningsby
(1844) and Sybil (1845), Charlotte BronteÈ's Shirley (1849), Charles Kingsley's Alton Locke
(1850), Charles Dickens's Hard times (1854) and George Eliot's Felix Holt (1866).
62 D Rosen, The changing fictions of masculinity (Urbana and Chicago, 1993), pp 154±55.
63 M Girouard, The return to Camelot: chivalry and the English gentleman (New Haven, 1981),
pp 70±78.
64 Ibid, p 132.
65 Gilmour, The Victorian period, p 50.
67 Quoted in Culler, The Victorian mirror of history, p 160.
68 J Walvin, A child's world: a social history of English childhood 1800±1914 (Penguin Books,
1982), p 124.
95
Kleio XXXII, 2000
content of these books changed from being religious to secular, with
popular texts in the later decades being represented in the `penny
dreadfuls' in contrast to the tracts of the earlier 1800s.69 Only in the
strictest Quaker homes was imaginative literature forbidden, and, by
the 1860s and 1870s, simplicity was eroded by worldliness and
entertainment replaced the earlier attempts to prescribe codes of
behaviour and conduct.70 While the writing of popular authors such as
Hughes and Kingsley is traditionally perceived as being marketed at a
middle-class audience, research in recent decades suggests that
working-class leisure, including reading habits, is more complex than
a superficial glance would indicate.71 Victorian children, both middle
and working class, had much wider literary tastes than a simple and
rigid class division and working-class literacy, suggests Hopkins was
perhaps more widespread than has been supposed.72 At the same time,
literature for children was moving from the more ideological texts of
the middle part of the century to a straightforward àdventure' genre in
the period from 1870. Robert Louis Stevenson's work, suggests
Cawelti, is indicative of a need for `grown up' adventure heroes.73
The black arrow, published in 1888, can perhaps be viewed in this
context though its inclusion of the well-circulated doggeral of the War
of the Roses, `the Cat, the Rat and Lovell our Dog/ ruled all England
under the Hog', is arguably as problematic for the medieval historian as
the `Jabberwocky'.74
With the growth of consumer leisure and marked changes in material
conditions between the 1870s and 1914, there was a gradual
contraction of the working week and the working day, leaving more
available time and money for leisure.75 A new working-class interest in
the past was catered for in Britain by outings as museums and castles
were opened to a wider public. Particular buildings, such as Carnarvon
Castle, became associated with the public face of the Victorian
ÐÐÐÐÐÐÐÐÐÐ
69 D Vincent `Reading in the working-class home', in J Walvin and J K Walton (eds), Leisure in
Britain: 1780±1939 (Manchester, 1983), pp 211±215.
70 F M L Thompson, The rise of respectable society: a social history of Victorian Britain, 1830±
1900 (Fontana, 1988), pp 254±255.
71 See for instance J Baxendale, `Peter Bailey, leisure and class in Victorian England', in M Barker
and A Beezer (eds), Reading into cultural studies (London and New York, 1992), pp 35±6.
72 E Hopkins, Childhood transformed: working-class children in nineteenth-century England
(Manchester, 1994), p 138.
73 G Cawelti, Adventure, mystery and romance: formula stories as art and popular culture
(Chicago, 1976), pp 40, 141.
74 The verse was not thoroughly re-examined until the publication of Josephine Tey's novel, The
daughter of time in 1951.
75 J Walvin, Leisure and society: 1830±1950 (London, 1978), p 62.
96
Kleio XXXII, 2000
monarchy, though it was Edwin Landseer's `highlands' which provided
the most clearly identifiable depicted landscape for royalty under the
public gaze.76 Medieval archaeology, suggests Paul Bahn, had long
focused on ruined castles and abbeys, and these images of an older past
were given new impetus during the `Gothic revival'.77 At the same time,
the period from 1860 to 1920 was also the `golden age' of archaeology,
including a wide panaroma of ancient prehistory, pioneering finds,
human ancestors, famous sites and the greatest names in the history of
the subject. In this context, Scandinavian medievalism was given a new
framework when, in 1880, the Oseberg Viking ship was excavated and
given a ninth-century dating. This vessel was replicated and sailed the
Atlantic in 1893, reaching Newfoundland after 28 days at sea. The
Oseberg vessel was subsequently displayed at the Chicago World Fair
in 1893, thus effectively providing visual evidence of European contact
with America several centuries before Columbus.78
By the late Victorian period, `history' had clearly moved into the
space of public experience and pageant. As imperial historians such as
Seeley and Froude sought to expand the empire through their
narratives, the written and visual iconography of the ìsland story' of
Britain, comments MacDonald, was the paramount patriotic myth of
the New Imperial age, having very little to do with Froude and Seeley,
for instance,79 Seeley had extended the `home-nation' as a set of
organic English national, racial and ethnic characteristics to include
the empire abroad,80 so too did the literary and visual conceptions of
the `British' empire expand. The iconography, comments MacDonald,
has very little to do with fact, but a great deal to do with metaphorical
or imaginative reality.81 Crucial to the imperial myth-making process
was the glamourisation of soldier heroes. The medieval flavour used in
such descriptions is clearly evident. As Robert Giddings has pointed
out, there was nothing more inflammable to the public imagination than
the press reports in 1898, which provided an ìmperishable picture of
the Christian martyr Gordon surrounded in Khartoum by a sea of
76 R Ormond, Sir Edwin Landseer (London, 1982), p 144.
77 G Bahn (ed), The Cambridge illustrated history of archaeology (Cambridge, 1996), p 54.
78 Ibid, p 131.
79 E Boehmer, Empire writing: an anthology of colonial literature, 1870±1918 (Oxford, 1998),
pp 73±7; 112±115.
80 B Schwarz (ed), The expansion of England: race, ethnicity and cultural history (London, 1996),
p 3.
81 R H MacDonald, The language of empire: myths and metaphors of popular imperialism 1880±
1918 (Manchester, 1994), p 51.
97
Kleio XXXII, 2000
shrieking heathens'.82 The attention given to individual heroes was a
reflection of the Victorian concern with `great men', a worship of selfdiscipline in myth if not necessarily in reality and the production of
biographies of recent heroes, which stressed the qualities of their
personality as much as their deeds.83 Soldier heroes argues Dawson
were portrayed as performing `dangerous and daring exploits during
wartime, in furtherance of a quest'.84 Clearly this type of romanticised
hero-worship required a public audience. The Times of 14 November
1857 reported the events in India, placing Sir Henry Havelock at the
centre as a product typical of a middle-class which believed its time had
come `without a single drop of Norman blood in their veins'.85 As Kipling
commented some decades later ìt was above all things necessary that
England at breakfast should be amused and thrilled and interested,
whether Gordon lived or died, or half the British Army went to pieces in
the sand'.86 The reports in the press of desperate military actions were
reinforced by Lady Butler's influential battle paintings with their
depictions of last stands and desperate heroism against impossible
odds, reminiscent of the kind of hand-to-hand combat during medieval
battles.87 A more specific medieval iconography was provided by CatonWoodville's painting, `The Charge of the 21st Lancers at the Battle of
Omdurman, 1898', which showed a cavalry officer meeting in combat
with a `Saladin' in medieval armour.88
The South African or Anglo-Boer War marked a high point in this late
Victorian set of images of the kind of chivalrous behaviour embodied in
war. Often spoken of retrospectively as the `last gentleman's war' the
reality of the conflict was almost completely interwoven with late
Victorian euphemisms of `gentlemanly behaviour' and a `British' code
of conduct as expressed for example in the work of popular writer
Arthur Conan Doyle.89 The rhetoric of the public school, especially that
82 R Giddings, `Cry God for Harry, England and Lord Kitchener: a tale of Tel-el-Kebir, Suakin, Wadi
Halfa and Omdurman', in R Giddings (ed), Literature and imperialism (London, 1991), p 201.
83 I Pears, `The gentleman and the hero: Wellington and Napoleon in the nineteenth century', in R
Porter (ed), Myths of the English (Cambridge, 1992), pp 217±218.
84 G Dawson, `The imperial adventure hero and British masculinity: the imagining of Sir Henry
Havelock', in T Foley, et al (eds), Gender and colonialism, (Galway, 1995), p 46. My italics.
85 Ibid, p 53.
86 Quoted in J O Springhall, Ùp guards and at them', in J McKenzie (ed), Imperialism and popular
culture (Manchester, 1986), p 56.
87 P Usherwood and J Spencer-Smith, Lady Butler: battle artist, 1846±1933 (Gloucester, 1987),
p 70; J W M. Hichberger, Images of the army: the military in British art, 1815±1914
(Manchester, 1988), pp 82±3.
88 McDonald, The language of empire, p 31.
89 I have examined this theme in some detail in a recent paper, entitled `The imperial sentiment
which prevails: writing to and from Natal, c 1900±1910', presented at the Poetics and Linguistics
Association Conference on the Semantics of War, University of Potchefstroom, March 1999.
98
Kleio XXXII, 2000
contained in sports and games, had, by the time of the war, reached a
peak in its exemplification of Victorian `chivalry'90 and `by 1900
generations of boys were growing up for whom compulsory games were
a commonplace school tradition rather than a radical break with the
past, ... there was now a considerable group loyalty to the widespread
appeal of muscular Christianity, exemplified in G A Henty's publicschoolboy heroes'.91 Although Henty did write several stories based in
the middle ages, it was quite clear from the majority of his texts that
this school-boy literature was aimed at the needs of the late nineteenthcentury 'new imperialism' and the future participation of public school
boys. Medieval `History' (and I use both inverted commas and the
capital H deliberately) as recorded by Henty, provided a medium for a
specific range of attitudes about the role of contemporary Victorian
England in a wider world. Thus, in such geographically disparate
narratives as The lion of St Mark: a tale of Venice in the fourteenth
century, A knight of the white cross: a tale of the siege of Rhodes and
In freedom's cause: a story of Wallace and Bruce.92 Henty's heroes
are `true, honest and brave', have the characteristics of Victorian
school prefects and possess the ideal characteristics needed for a
typical administrator or soldier in the modern empire.93 Such values
could be easily transferred to the imperial context of late Victorian
times and Henty was quite blatant in his avowed missionary task to
ìnculcate patriotism' in his texts.94 In similar vein, suggests
MacDonald, were Doyle's `medieval' romances, The white company
and Sir Nigel, published in 1891 and 1905. These texts `locate the myth
in the distant past of the fourteenth century, and use that past to
substantiate and justify the present glory of empire'.95 As Isabel
Quigley aptly points out, Àrnold had hoped to turn out Christian
gentlemen; the later Victorian public schools wanted able administrators'.96 This kind of ability was perceived as both mental and
physical. Recruitment efforts during the South African War had shown
that there were serious bodily imperfections among prospective
working-class soldiers. The eugenics debate which intensified in the
90 The links between sport and empire have been examined in J A Mangan, Athleticism in the
Victorian and Edwardian public school (Cambridge, 1981). See also J A Mangan, The games
ethic and imperialism: aspects of the diffusion of an ideal (London, 1986), pp 35±6; D Birley,
Land of sport and glory: sport and British society, 1887±1910 (Manchester, 1995), pp 155±156.
91 J Springhall, Coming of age: adolescence in Britain 1860±1960 (Dublin, 1986), p 119.
92 The lion of St Mark was published in 1889, In freedom's cause in 1895 and A knight of the
white cross in 1896.
93 G Arnold, Held fast for England: GA Henty: imperialist boys' writer (London, 1980), pp 36±42.
94 J Bristow, Empire boys: adventures in a man's world (London, 1990), p 147.
95 MacDonald, The language of empire, p 71.
96 I Quigley, The heirs of Tom Brown: the English school story, (London, 1982), p 87.
99
Kleio XXXII, 2000
wake of these findings stressed, among other concerns, that the
maintenance and defence of the empire required a strong Ànglo Saxon'
race.97
The impact of these multiple images of an essentially masculine
imperialism on girls and girls' fiction has yet to be fully explored
though some scholars have suggested that an idealised image of
femininity was also conveyed in the `chivalric' theme. Thus, this
literature ìnstructed young readers in what was socially acceptable
without introducing troublings of sexuality'.98 The imperial stereotypes of gender were adopted by girls' authors who were quick to place
girls in passive roles in the empire, juxtaposing them against the active
roles pursued in the masculine world.99 The dominant middle-class
female role in the imperial context, suggests Davin, was to ensure the
growth of the British population against other colonial competitors and
the birthrate became a matter of national importance by the late
Victorian period.100 While the realities of women's contribution to the
late nineteenth century imperial project were far more complex,
including both complicity and resistance,101 a passive, motherhoodlinked stereotype prevailed in literature for girls at least up to the early
twentieth century.
To some extent the romantic medievalism of the nineteenth century
continued into the period after the South African War, as the 'new
imperialism' continued to dominate British politics. Rudyard Kipling,
the ìmperial laureate' (the description is MacDonald's), although
associated with the underclasses on the imperial frontiers, was
nevertheless concerned with a respect for and reinforcement of `the
law' rather than an emancipating social improvement mythology of
`progress'.102 Puck of Pook's Hill, published in 1906, further illustrates
this theme where neither Saxon nor Norman is exempt from the due
processes of justice.103 There were marked changes, though, in the
literature of the Edwardian period in contrast to that of the previous
century. Wullschlager concludes his fascinating study, Inventing
wonderland, as follows:
97 A Vrettos, Somatic fictions: imagining illness in Victorian culture (Stanford, 1995), p 124.
98 K Reynolds, Girls only? Gender and popular children's ficton in Britain, 1880±1910,
(Philadelphia, 1990), p 67.
99 S Mitchell, The new girl: girls' culture in England, 1880±1915 (New York, 1995), p 22.
100 A Davin, Ìmperialism and motherhood' in F Cooper and A L Stoler (eds), Tensions of empire:
colonial cultures in a bourgeois world (Berkeley, 1997), p 88.
101 S Ledger, The new woman: fiction and feminism at the fin de siecle (Manchester, 1997), p 63.
102 J Briggs, `Transitions (1890±1914)', in P Hunt (ed), Children's literature: an illustrated history
(Oxford, 1995), pp 177±8.
103 R Kipling, Puck of Pook's Hill, London, Macmillan, 1910, p 48.
100
Kleio XXXII, 2000
where the Victorians had escaped into a fantastical vision of childhood for solace and
distraction, the Edwardians went one stage further and attempted to play at childhood
in their own adult lives. The fashions of the day were for the great outdoors: for
hearty, tweed-clad men, smoking pipes, tramping across the Downs, for plunging into
cold rivers, disciplining boys, shooting animals and building empires; among
Edwardian legacies are Baden-Powell's boy scouts ... and garden cities.104
The Boy Scout movement, started in 1908, although aimed across
class lines at all boys, remained firmly within the ambit of the British
empire. As R H McDonald noted, it simply opened up 'new frontiers' for
imperialism.
Baden-Powell also drew on an extraordinary collection 105 of
`chivalric' images, as Giroud has noted, including a repeated depiction
of St George as a knight in armour slaying the dragon. Giroud begins his
comprehensive investigation of `chivalry' with a date from the postEdwardian era ± 1912. The stylised reporting of events in that year ±
specifically the `heroic' death of Scott's party in the Antarctic and the
supposed masculine `heroism' shown in the sinking of the Titanic ±
was, he argues, an instance of the intense romanticised medievalism of
the Victorians. For Giroud, the first half of the First World War was
also still characterised by `chivalry' as the ultimate code of honour and
it was only as the war became increasingly de-romanticised from 1916
that the images changed. Acutely aware of the subjectivity of history,
Andrew Lang commented in 1914 that Macaulay, although `the ideal
representative of the English mind and character', had nevertheless
ìmperfect sympathies'.106 The Victorians underwent a further deconstruction process with Lytton Strachey's Freudian analysis Eminent
Victorians in 1918,107 and by the 1920s, individuals who had grown up
in the late Victorian period were able to view the earlier nineteenth
century through twentieth century psychology. `Manly Christianity'
also underwent a thorough and irreversible deconstruction in the
period after 1918 although it survived in the works of `Victorians' such
as John Buchan.108 Buchan himself was not however, unaware of the
revolutionary changes of his own twentieth century, and, as he wrote in
his 1924 biography of Walter Scott, Ì do not suggest the severe
doctrine that no man can write intimately of sex without forfeiting his
104 S Wullschlager, Inventing wonderland: the lives and fantasies of Lewis Carroll, Edward Lear,
J M Barrie, Kenneth Grahame and A A Milne (London, 1995), p 146.
105 R H MacDonald, Sons of the Empire: the frontier and the Boy Scout movement, 1890±1918
(Toronto, 1993), p 77.
106 A Lang, History of English literature: from `Beowulf' to Swinburne (London, 1914), pp 645±
646.
107 M Mason, The making of Victorian sexuality (Oxford, 1994), p 16.
108 Vance, Sinews of the spirit, p 175.
101
Kleio XXXII, 2000
title to gentility, but I do say that for Scott's type of gentleman to do so
would have been impossible without a dereliction of standards'.109
109 Quoted in G Himmelfarb, Victorian minds (London, 1968), p 251.
102
Kleio XXXII, 2000
Bridget Theron: The Kimberley Papers
Searching for gems: the Kimberley
Papers at Oxford University
Bridget Theron
Until recently, the extensive collection of papers of John Wodehouse,
the first Earl of Kimberley, was in private hands and virtually
undisturbed. On 12 December 1991, almost 90 years after his death,
the papers were purchased at Sotherby's by the Bodleian Library,
Oxford University, for about £40 000.1 Additional funding came from
the Radcliffe Trust, the Friends of the Bodleian and the Friends of the
National Libraries. The collection comprises practically all Kimberley's
surviving political papers with the exception of a small collection of
diplomatic correspondence in the British Library (Add Mss 46692-4)
dated 1856±1858, while he was minister plenipotentiary to Russia.
There are also eight volumes of Kimberley's later correspondence in the
National Library of Scotland (Mss 10242-9). Because of its considerable
size, the sorting and cataloguing of the Oxford collection was a slow
process and the Kimberley Papers only became available to researchers
in 1995, the same year in which Elizabeth Turner's comprehensive
inventory to the collection appeared.2
The collection is very large, comprising no less than 589 volumes
arranged into 13 main sections. Section 7, Kimberley's papers while he
was Secretary of State for the Colonies, is the most important for South
African researchers, but the others are also listed here for the sake of
clarity. Sections 2±10 are volumes of Kimberley's correspondence (both
outgoing and incoming). The papers in these sections are arranged
according to the offices Lord Kimberley held. Within each section, the
letters are arranged alphabetically according to correspondent.
1
2
Political diaries, 1862±1901
Under-Secretary at the Foreign Office, 1852±6, 1859±61
1
I am indebted for this information to Colin Harris, archivist in the John Johnson Reading Room
for Modern Papers, New Bodleian Library, University of Oxford.
2
Elizabeth Turner, Papers of John Wodehouse, 1st Earl of Kimberley (1826±1902), unpublished
inventory, University of Oxford, 1995.
103
Kleio XXXII, 2000
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
British minister at St Petersburg, 1856±8
Mission to Schleswig Holstein, 1863±4
Lord Lieutenant of Ireland 1864±6
Governor of Hudson's Bay Company, 1868
Secretary of State for the Colonies, 1870±4, 1880±2 (Mss Eng
c 4074±4203)
Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster, 1882
Secretary of State for India, 1882±6, 1892±4
Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, 1894±5
Chancellor of London University, 1899±1901
President of University College, London, 1881±7
Miscellaneous political correspondence (received while out of
office) 1870±1902
Personal correspondence & papers, 1843±1902
While on study leave in Britain in 1996 I was privileged to be able to
consult the Kimberley Papers. They are a veritable treasure-house for
South African historians of the 19th century and bring many new
perspectives to an important era in our history which has been fairly
thoroughly researched already.3 The latter part of the 19th century was
a watershed period in South Africa, a time when the discovery of
diamonds heralded the development of a capitalist economy which then
accelerated even more dramatically when gold was discovered on the
Witwatersrand. It was a time when Britain's attitude towards her
colonial possessions was also undergoing change. Imperialism was
gathering momentum. In the face of growing international competition
and grave economic straits, the Home Government had to look towards
shoring up British influence and maintaining paramountcy in the
empire.4 But this had to be done with as little strain on the imperial
3
C F Goodfellow's Great Britain and South African confederation 1870±1881 (Cape Town, 1966)
is the classic work on British confederation attempts in South Africa the 19th century. Important
works on the same period include J J Oberholster, `Die anneksasie van Griekwaland-Wes',
Archives Yearbook for South African History, 8(1945) and more recent publications such as Rob
Turrell's Capital and labour on the Kimberley diamond fields 1871±1890 (Cambridge, 1987),
W H Worger's South Africa's city of diamonds: mine workers and monopoly capitalism in
Kimberley, 1867±1895 (New Haven, 1987) and C Newbury's The diamond ring: business,
politics and precious stones in South Africa 1867±1947 (Oxford, 1989). None of these academics
had the benefit of seeing Kimberley's important new collection. Nor indeed did M C van Zyl, the
author of the authoritative Die protesbeweging van die Transvaalse Afrikaners 1880±1881
(Pretoria, 1979), when he researched the circumstances under which Britain (with Kimberley
heading the Colonial Office) withdrew from the Transvaal Colony and reinstated Boer
independence in 1881.
4
See for example A Atmore & S Marks, `The imperial factor in the 19th century: towards a
reassessment', Journal of Imperial and Commonwealth History, vol 3, no 1, 1974, pp 105±139.
104
Kleio XXXII, 2000
purse as possible. When Kimberley took over in the Colonial Office in
1870 as Secretary of State for the Colonies, the idea that the answer to
Britains dilemma lay in a confederation of the states and colonies in
South Africa, had already gained support in British parliamentary
circles. But this was not matched by support for the scheme in South
Africa. Ten years later, after two successive Secretaries of State,
Carnarvon and Hicks Beach, had tried and failed to implement the
policy, it fell to Kimberley to declare that confederation was a dead
letter. Britain had already spent enormous sums of money in South
Africa: the Anglo-Zulu War of 1879, the most expensive British military
foray into the region to date, had cost the British taxpayer no less than
£4,5 million.5 In 1881 the Home Government abandoned the idea of
confederation and withdrew from the Transvaal, its pride severely
dented. Many of the diehard British imperialists were mortified and
their forebodings of gloom took on even greater significance a few short
years later when gold was discovered in the very region which
Kimberley and Gladstone had delivered back to Kruger and his Boer
republic.
Kimberley, himself a student at Oxford University in his earlier
years, served two terms as Secretary of State for the Colonies in
Gladstone's Whig Cabinet. Although not, it seems, a particularly
popular6 nor an intellectually brilliant man, Kimberley was `conscientious and painstaking ... a peculiarly solid and trustworthy statesman.'7 Goodfellow sees him more as being responsive to the pressures
brought to bear upon him by the British public, parliament and the
cabinet, rather than being a creator and an innovator.8
During his first term of office, from July 1870 until February 1874,
Kimberley became embroiled in a number of crucial South African
issues. The mineral revolution was well under way and the economy of
the country was undergoing rapid change. One of the first problems he
had to address was the controversy surrounding the ownership of the
recently discovered diamond fields in the area which later became
known as Griqualand West. Indeed the diamond mining town of
Kimberley, where some of the most precious gems were discovered,
5
Public Record Office, Kew (PRO),CO/48 (Colonial Office, original correspondence, Cape Colony)
vol 490, Frere±Hicks Beach, Cape Town, 9 June 1879; J Benyon, Proconsul and paramountcy in
South Africa: the high commission, British supremacy and the sub-continent 1806±1910
(Pietermaritzburg, 1980), p 165.
6
Dictionary of South African biography (Cape Town, 1972), vol 2, p 852.
7
Goodfellow, Great Britain and South African confederation, pp 32, 187.
8
Ibid, p 208.
105
Kleio XXXII, 2000
was named after him.9 More light can now be shed on the decisions
which emanated from Downing Street in these years, because included
in the Oxford collection is Kimberley's correspondence with key role
players such as the Governor of the Cape Colony and High Commissioner of South Africa, Sir Henry Barkly,10 the first premier of the Cape
Colony, John Molteno, and Richard Southey, the avid expansionist and
highly unpopular Lieutenant-Governor of Griqualand West. Kimberley's correspondence with Barkly is particularly important because all
major policy decisions concerning South Africa were relayed from the
Colonial Office through the High Commissioner.
Kimberley was also closely involved in the appointment of Robert
Keate (who was the Lieutenant-Governor of Natal at the time) to
arbitrate in the dispute over the ownership of diamondiferous land. The
controversial outcome, the so-called Keate Award, later led to the
British annexation of Griqualand West as a Crown Colony on 27
October 1871 and the appointment of Southey to administer the area.11
Kimberley had been reluctant that the Home Government take on this
added burden in South Africa, and permission to annex was only
grudgingly given on the understanding that Barkly made it clear to the
Cape government that it would as soon as possible accept its
incorporation.12 After all, wrote a peevish Lord Carnarvon some years
later, the English taxpayer could hardly be expected to go on paying for
the expenses and liabilities of a troublesome Griqualand West.13 The
Keate Award and the annexation of Griqualand West had other crucial
implications too, not the least for the Tlhaping and Rolong, who thereby
lost the ownership of the land they had traditionally held.14 It also
angered the two independent Boer republics, stirred their dormant
national sentiment and subsequently placed Kimberley's successor,
Lord Carnarvon, in a taxing and embarrassing situation over the claims
9
`You will, I hope', wrote Kimberley, `be able to prevent the capital with which you have been good
enough to associate my name, from becoming the scene of any acts which its namesake would not
be proud of.' Oxford University (OXF), Kimberley Papers (KP), Mss Eng c 4078, Kimberley±
Barkly, Downing Street, 4 September 1873.
10 OXF, KP, Mss Eng c 4076±4078.
11 OXF, KP, Mss Eng c 4078, Kimberley±Barkly, Downing Street, 24 April 1873.
12 British Blue Book (BBB) C 459, 1871, Kimberley±Barkly, Downing Street, 18 May 1871, pp 172±
173.
13 Confidential Print (CP), African 83, no 28, Carnarvon±Barkly, Downing Street, 4 August 1875,
pp 190±191. Carnarvon writes that the correspondence of his `predecessor' (Kimberley) makes it
perfectly clear that `the annexation was sanctioned upon the passing of the resolutions by the
Cape Parliamant ... [which are] ... morally binding.'
14 K Shillington, The colonisation of the southern Tswana 1870±1900 (Johannesburg, 1985),
pp 53±55.
106
Kleio XXXII, 2000
made by President J H Brand of the Orange Free State, to some of the
richest diamond-mining areas.15
During this same term of office Kimberley also took the decision to
allow Barkly to steer the Cape Colony towards responsible-government
status. This was a highly significant step. One of the main reasons why
Kimberley had supported this constitutional move was that it was àn
obviously indispensable preliminary to the formation of a selfgoverning confederation; the Cape was to take the initiative in this
formation, and she could hardly do so while still possessing only
representative government'.16 On 15 June 1872 the requisite bill was
duly passed by both Cape Houses. But in the years which followed John
Molteno proved to be one of the Colonial Office's most stubborn
opponents, delaying and indeed playing a major role in aborting its
plans to confederate the South African states and colonies. Molteno was
finally replaced in February 1878, in the fond hope that he would be
more tractable,17 by the eastern Cape politician J G Sprigg. All these
important developments can now be reappraised by studying Kimberley's correspondence in the Bodleian Library.
In April 1880, rather against expectations, the Liberal Party came to
power again in Britain. Disraeli made way for Gladstone and Kimberley
took over from `Black Michael' Hicks Beach at the helm of the Colonial
Office. In this, his second term, Kimberley directed colonial affairs until
December 1882. Again he was thrust into the maelstrom of events in
South Africa. In the Transvaal Colony, which Britain had annexed in
April 1877, matters were far from satisfactory. Shepstone's administration had been an abject failure. Owen Lanyon, brimming with
prejudices about his new subjects, had assumed office in March 1879.
He soon antaganised more or less everyone with whom he came into
contact. He had nothing but contempt and loathing for the republicans
and they in turn chafed under his rigid, dictatorial administration and
criticised him at every opportunity. The Transvaal had been bankrupt
in 1877 when Britain had taken it over, and when Kimberley returned
to the Colonial Office he found that the financial state of the colony was
15 OXF, KP, Mss Eng c 4077, Kimberley±Barkly, Downing Street, 8 January 1872 and 7 July 1872;
Mss Eng c 4078, Barkly±Kimberley, Cape Town, 11 September 1873 and 23 October 1873. See
also Goodfellow, Great Britain and South African confederation, pp 98±101.
16 OXF, KP, Mss Eng c 4076±4077, correspondence Kimberley±Barkly, 1871 and 1872. See also C W
de Kiewiet, The imperial factor in South Africa: a study in politics and economics (London,
1965), pp 12±13 and Goodfellow, Great Britain and South African confederation, p 43.
17 De Kiewiet, The imperial factor in South Africa, pp 174, 238; Goodfellow, Great Britain and
South African confederation, p 154.
107
Kleio XXXII, 2000
little better.18 Furthermore, the Boers were making it clear that they
had taken more than they could stomach. Deputations to Britain to
plead for the reinstatement of their independence had failed to bring
any improvements.19 In a number of equally fruitless petitions drawn
up over the years while under British control, they had complained
inter alia that pre-annexation promises had not been kept and that the
`dummy legislature' comprising an ineffectual group of Lanyon's
appointees gave them no representation at all. Their refusal to pay
taxes (something they had in any case been loathe to do even while
independent) grew to worrying proportions.20 When Lanyon tried to
coerce them to pay up, resistance surged.
Curiously, as becomes very evident in Lanyon's private papers, and
is underlined in the correspondence of Major-General Sir George
Pomeroy Colley (the British military commander and High Commissioner for South Eastern Africa) to Kimberley, the British authorities in
South Africa who were directing Transvaal affairs in 1880, were not
unduly worried.21 Possibly this complacency was instilled by the
particular brand of anti-Boer sentiment so frequently (both privately
and publicly) expressed by British officials such as Wolseley, Lanyon
and Colley. They frankly felt that the Boers were too cowardly to
fight.22 The Boers meanwhile had been encouraged to learn that
Gladstone's pre-election Midlothian speeches emphasised that colonies
should be granted self-government. This was a refreshing change from
the monotonous assertions by the likes of Bartle Frere, Garnet Wolseley
and Owen Lanyon, all of whom had loudly insisted that Britain would
18 Lanyon argued, with some justification, that the poor state of the Transvaal finances was due to
the cost of the war which Wolseley had waged in 1879 against Sekhukhune and the refusal of the
Boers to pay their taxes. See for example BBB, C 2584, 1880, no 73, Lanyon±Wolseley, Pretoria,
14 February 1880, pp 150±153.
19 Van Zyl, Die protesbeweging van die Transvaalse Afrikaners, pp 20±44 and 72±91.
20 TA (Transvaal Archives), Administrator of the Transvaal Colony (ATC), Lanyon±Kimberley,
Pretoria, 28 November 1880.
21 See for example TA, Lanyon Collection, A596, vols 14±16, letters to his father Charles Lanyon, in
which he makes frequent reference (even as late as Christmas 1880) to all being quiet in the
Transvaal and the situation well under control. Compare also OXF, KP, Mss Eng c 4139, Colley±
Kimberley, Pietermaritzburg, 12 July 1880: Colley feels that cavalry regiments `could safely be
spared' and Colley±Kimberley, Pretoria 25 August 1880, in which he decides to àbandon three of
our minor posts in the Transvaal' and has 'no reason ... to doubt the safety of withdrawing an
infantry regiment'.
22 Wolseley, for example, wrote: `They [the Boers] are cowards pure and simple ... their courage
will evaporate in tall talk as it has hitherto done': quoted in A Preston (ed), The South African
Journal of Sir Garnet Wolseley 1879±1880 (Cape Town, 1973), p 243. Lanyon frequently
expressed similar sentiments, for example TA, A596, vol 14, Owen Lanyon±Charles Lanyon,
Pretoria, 12 December 1880, p 191. See also Van Zyl, Die protesbeweging van die Transvaalse
Afrikaners, p 167.
108
Kleio XXXII, 2000
never, under any circumstances, agree to surrender her control of the
Transvaal. Wolseley, arguably the most outspoken of all British
imperialists, a man who wanted `to gallop through everything as if he
was a God Almighty',23 even went so far as to proclaim that the
annexation `cannot and never will be undone'. He was categoric that às
long as the sun shines in the heavens' the Transvaal would `for ever' be
an ìntegral part of HM dominions.'24
Despite this, the republicans became increasingly insistent in their
demands that Britain take cognisance of their grievances and restore
their independence. In mid-November, what Colley euphemistically
called a `slight disturbance in the Potchefstroom district of the
Transvaal',25 should have alerted Lanyon, Colley and Kimberley that
Boer resistance was not going to subside in the face of advancing
British troops. With their confidence boosted by their military
successes at Bronkhorstspruit and Laingsnek, Boer resistance culminated in the battle on Majuba Hill on 27 February 1881 and the death in
action of Colley. Gladstone and Kimberley then took the decision that
Britain should relinquish control at Pretoria.26 Kimberley was later to
claim that a fair measure of blame for this `most untoward event',27 a
war which Colley had himself admitted was ill-advised and had àdded
to the embarrassment of the Government at a time when they must
already have anxieties enough',28 lay with Owen Lanyon, who had not
kept the Colonial Office fully appraised of the extreme gravity of the
situation.29 The Kimberley Papers at Oxford have proved vital in my
assessment of the validity of this accusation.30
In the collection there is also an exciting wealth of new information
23 Quoted in Van Zyl, Die protesbeweging van die Transvaalse Afrikaners, p 127.
24 Hove Library, Wolseley Papers, SA 1, Wolseley±Frere, Pretoria, 9 December 1879, pp 190±191;
see also OXF, KP, Mss Eng c 4144, Kimberley±Gladstone, Downing Street, 1 June 1881 and Van
Zyl, Die protesbeweging van die Transvaalse Afrikaners, pp 126±127.
25 OXF, KP, Mss Eng c 4140, Colley±Kimberley, Pietermaritzburg, 15 November 1880. The incident
concerned the refusal of a man called Bezuidenhout to pay his tax. The skirmish which followed
prompted Colley to venture on 29 November 1880 in a letter to Kimberley, that `matters in the
Transvaal are not looking as well as we could wish ...'
26 OXF, KP, Mss Eng c 4197, Papers relating to South Africa, 1880, March 1881±April 1881 re war
in Transvaal.
27 OXF, KP, Mss Eng c 4142. See also British Library (BL), WE Gladstone Papers, Add Mss 44225,
Kimberley±Gladstone, Downing Street, 22 December 1880, p 262.
28 OXF, KP, Mss Eng c 4140, Colley±Kimberley, Mount Prospect, 31 January 1881.
29 Ibid, Kimberley±Colley, Downing Street, 2, 7 and 20 January 1881.
30 Work is presently in progress on a doctoral thesis, Puppet on an imperial string: Owen Lanyon
in South Africa, 1875±1881, University of South Africa. Despite the slur on his name, Lanyon's
opinion was subsequently sought regarding the Royal Commission's proposed boundary line
`between the Transvaal Boers and the native tribes': OXF, KP, Mss Eng c 4199, Minute by Sir
Owen Lanyon to Colonial Office, 10 May 1881.
109
Kleio XXXII, 2000
on the motivation behind the controversial decision to pull out of the
Transvaal: Britain's so-called `peace with dishonour'. The Oxford papers
will also open new debate on Kimberley's determination to `work the
thing out', with the express proviso that the Transvalers be prepared to
accept British suzerainty.31 The decision to withdraw was greeted with
stunned disbelief and shock by many Britons, Tories and Whigs alike.
Queen Victoria was distraught and `did not feel inclined to approve' the
terms of the peace settlement which she saw as placing Britain in a
`humiliating position' ... `Can not the terms be modified?' she asked
imperiously.32 But it was not to be. Kimberley sent a placatory telegram
back to the Queen (whom he subsequently privately referred to as being in
a `tetchy state of mind' about the outcome in the Transvaal) with a view to
`defending the terms of the peace' and putting her tetchy mind at rest
with the news that Britain had retained suzerainty over the area.33
Carnarvon, Kimberley's predecessor as Secretary of State for the
Colonies, was another who was horrified and he gloomily predicted
disaster in South Africa ere long: one of his more perceptive opinions on
South African affairs.34 This and other uncomplimentary opinions on the
Whig policies in South Africa did not, however, go unanswered.
Kimberley reacted sharply to some ùncalled-for remarks' by Carnarvon
in the Pall Mall periodical, and wrote to Prime Minister Gladstone: `Did
you ever see a more foolish letter than Carnarvon's! ... this is not a
moment for him to impugn others when we are reaping the bitter fruits of
his policy in South Africa.'35
The British press had no alternative but to try to put up a brave front.
The Times of London nonchalantly declared that `the Empire is big
enough without the Transvaal'.36 The Illustrated London News was
less sanguine about the `wretched business' and put it all down to the
annexation `blunder' and the fact that the `strength of the Dutch
population has been underrated... and now', it claimed, `we are reaping
the harvest of folly which some time since, we sowed for ourselves.' It
also had grave fears that there might be a backlash which would
`stimulate into fresh activity the latent antipathy of Dutch settlers over
31 OXF, KP, Mss Eng c 4143, Gladstone±Kimberley, London, 17 March 1881; Mss Eng c 4159,
Kimberley±Robinson, Downing Street, 24 March 1881. In this latter note Kimberley defends the
peace agreement as one èvery one is glad of but no one can be proud of ... it was the least of
evils ... the dangers ahead were most serious ...'
32 OXF, KP, Mss Eng c 4143, Queen Victoria±Kimberley (telegram),Windsor, 22 March 1881.
33 Ibid, Kimberley±Gladstone, Downing Street, 22 March 1881 and 10 June 1881.
34 Quoted in Goodfellow, Great Britain and South African confederation, p 202.
35 OXF, KP, Mss Eng c 4142, Kimberley±Gladstone, Wymondham, 25 December 1880.
36 The Times, London, editorial, 21 July 1881.
110
Kleio XXXII, 2000
the entire extent of our South African possessions.'37 This same idea,
that the bitterness of the Cape and Free State Afrikaners after the war
might bring the `prospect of immediate trouble', also comes to light in
the Kimberley Papers and is thus another interesting issue which can
now be reappraised.38
Among Kimberley's voluminous papers covering events in South Africa
after 1880, there is a great deal of significant information on the
aftermath of the Boer rebellion in the Transvaal Colony. There are a
number of important papers on the workings of the 1881 Royal
Commission of Inquiry into affairs of the Transvaal, the cooperation
and mediation of the Orange Free State's President Brand and the
circumstances surrounding the signing of the London Convention of
1881.39 There is also correspondence, much of it not previously seen
elsewhere, between Kimberley and other prominent role players (in both
Britain and in South Africa) such as Gladstone, Courtney, Hicks Beach,
Wolseley, Frere, Bulwer, Colley, Wood, Lanyon, Joubert, Brand and the
newly appointed High Commissioner for South Africa, Robinson.40
For historians who are interested in the progression of British
colonial policy in South Africa over the crucial years during which Lord
Kimberley, Lord Carnarvon, Sir Michael Hicks Beach and Lord
Kimberley (for the second term) were in control at the Colonial Office,
the Oxford collection is a vital one. Studied on its own merits, it is
certainly an important archival resource; studied in conjunction with
the Carnarvon Papers in the Public Record Office and the British
Library 41 and the Hicks Beach Papers at Gloucester,42 it becomes even
more crucial in any assessment of the interaction between Victorian,
imperial Britain and a South Africa in the process of momentous socioeconomic and political change.
37 The Illustrated London News, London, editorials, 5 February 1881 and 5 March 1881.
38 OXF, KP, Mss Eng c 4159, Robinson±Kimberley, Cape Town, 21 February 1881.
39 See for example OXF, KP, Mss Eng c 4199, Miscellaneous papers, Colonial Office,1880±2. There
is also information in this file on pro-Boer public meetings held in British centres such as
Westminster, Birmingham, Bradford and Darlington during March 1881, calling for an end to
hostilities and the restoration of Transvaal independence.
40 See for example OXF, KP, Mss Eng c 4142±4145 (correspondence Gladstone, including his
motivation for the withdrawal of Frere); 4141 (correspondence Courtney and Frere); 4183, 4465
(correspondence Hicks Beach); 4074, 4195 (correspondence Wolseley); 4133 (correspondence
Bulwer); 4139, 4140 (correspondence Colley); 4167, 4168 (correspondence Wood); 4185, 4199
(correspondence Lanyon); 4159, 4160 (correspondence Robinson).
41 There are two extensive collections of Carnarvon Papers. Those in the Public Record Office, Kew,
are catalogued under the reference 30/6. In the British Library, London, they are to be found in
Add Mss 60757±61100.
42 At the Gloucestershire Record Office, Gloucester, the Sir Michael Hicks Beach Papers are
catalogued under the reference D 2455.
111
Kleio XXXII, 2000
Book reviews/
Boekbesprekings
Africa/Afrika
Richard Cope, Ploughshare of war: the
origins of the Anglo-Zulu War of
1879 (Pietermaritzburg, University of
Natal Press, 1999), x + 288 pp glossary, illus, maps, bibliography, index.
ISBN 0 86980 944 X
Although the Anglo-Zulu War was fought
over 120 years ago, there seems no end in
sight to the proliferation of books on all
aspects of the struggle. Even now at the
turn of the century, when interest should
logically be concentrated more on the
South African War, books, both scholarly
and popular, continue to appear. A glance
at a recent catalogue shows entries for
almost as many books written in 1999 on
the Anglo-Zulu as on the South African
War.
With the military aspects of the war
continuing to dominate public interest it is
understandable that most books dealing
with the Zulu concentrate on battles. Yet,
over the years there has also been a steady
stream of studies examining the outbreak
of the war, its conduct and repercussions
on the Zulu, and its long-term impact on
the kingdom and society. Strangely, however, a detailed scholarly work concentrating solely on the causes of the war, longterm as well as short-term, has not
appeared. Instead students of the war
have had to rely on chapters in books on
Natal and Zululand or specifically on the
war, on general works such as John
Laband's Rope of Sand: the rise and fall
of the Zulu kingdom in the nineteenth
112
Book reviews/Boekbesprekings
century (Johannesburg, 1995) or on unpublished theses, such as Phil Kennedy's
doctoral study, `The fatal diplomacy: Sir
Theophilus Shepstone and the Zulu kings,
1839±1879' (Ph D, UCLA, 1976).
In 1962 Richard Cope, a young postgraduate student at the University of
Natal, was encouraged by Edgar Brookes
to remedy, this lacuna. He completed a
Master's dissertation which sought to
examine the causes of the war in the
context of the relationship between Shepstone and Cetshwayo. Nearly 40 years
later this early research has resulted, via a
University of the Witwatersrand doctoral
thesis, in a profoundly scholarly examination of the intricate and interlinked developments in southern Africa which led
inexorably to war. His book provides
abundant evidence of a most thorough,
indeed exhaustive, study of the documentary sources relating to the war and its
background. Dr Cope would be the first to
agree that this is a solid empirical study.
He remains essentially an historian of the
old school, and this is not meant disparagingly, and readers of Ploughshare of war
can rest confident that he has provided
them with a clear, dispassionate discussion of the unravelling of events in the
1870s. While he takes note of the importance of economic and other factors in the
events leading to January 1879 and of the
developments within the Zulu kingdom,
the work is essentially a study in the
relationships between people from very
different cultures and ideologies.
Central to this book ± as it was to the
original dissertation ± is the relationship
between Shepstone and Cetshwayo. Shepstone's role dated back to the virtual
beginnings of the imperial presence in the
colony of Natal and in the second chapter
Dr Cope sets the scene with an account of
the origins of the `Shepstone System' in
the region. This is followed by an analysis
of the politics of the Zulu kingdom before
the civil war of 1856 elevated Cetshwayo
to a position of power. The rest of the
chapter examines the provenance of the
Zulu border dispute with the Transvaal
Kleio XXXII, 2000
and the uneasy relationship between the
two men until the accession of Cetshwayo
as king and his controversial coronation by
Shepstone in 1873.
Dr Cope uses this ceremony as a backdrop to the conflict which developed
between 1873 and 1879. He points to the
fundamental misunderstandings about the
meaning of the coronation which led both
Shepstone and Cetshwayo to entertain
conflicting expectations. Yet, as he notes,
whatever interpretation Cetshwayo may
have had, by inviting Shepstone to acknowledge him he had `given hostages for
fortune and facilitated future British intervention in the Zulu kingdom' (p 40).
Previous accounts of Shepstone's policy
towards the Zulu kingdom tended to place
an emphasis on his changing priorities
after he became administrator of the
Transvaal in 1877. In his third chapter,
however, Cope argues that Shepstone was,
from at least 1875, working towards the
annexation of the kingdom. In that year he
was already accusing Cetshwayo of leading a `black conspiracy against the whites
of South Africa' (p 52). The remainder of
the third chapter examines the associations between the various, often colliding
polities in south-east Africa ± Zulu, British,
Boer, Swazi and Pedi.
The fourth chapter on Carnarvon's confederation policy and the fifth chapter on
the annexation of the Transvaal close what
can be viewed as the background half of
the book. The remaining chapters see the
action surely moving towards the outbreak
of the war. In chapter six, Cope looks at
the hardening of Shepstone's attitude
towards the Zulu kingdom once he had
become the administrator of the Transvaal. He points out that what is often
overlooked is that Shepstone's commission
also empowered him to annex any territory bordering on a British colony and
argues that Shepstone believed that the
take-over of Zululand would be as straightforward as the Transvaal had been. In the
following chapters he outlines developments from 1877 to 1879. Cope deals with
the negotiations over the border with the
Transvaal in meticulous detail and he
portrays a Shepstone increasingly determined to overthrow Cetshwayo as he
realised that he would not be able to
domiate the outcome of the land dispute;
and a Cetshwayo viewing Shepstone's
attempts to control this process with
growing alarm and anger. By the end of
1877, war seemed inevitable to Shepstone
and during the year which followed he
worked towards this end.
Shepstone, suggests Cope, had a willing
disciple in the high commissioner, Sir
Bartle Frere and the remainder of the book
moves Frere to centre stage in the direction of events leading to conflict. Shepstone's manipulations are again illustrated in
detail and Cope shows a man obsessed
with the need to overthrow the kingdom ±
an obsession which, allied with his belief
in his own righteousness ± ènabled him to
sweep all obstacles, moral as well as
material, from his path' (p 205). Cope
shows that Shepstone was able to persuade even opponents of his policy towards the Zulu, such as the Natal
lieutenant-governor, Sir Henry Bulwer,
and, temporarily, Bishop Colenso, that
the ultimatum was necessary.
In conclusion, Ploughshare of war will
become an indispensable work to anyone
wanting to unravel the tortuous and
intricate developments culminating in the
Anglo-Zulu War.
John Lambert
Ben Fine and Zavareh Rustomee, The
political economy of South Africa:
from mineral-energy complex to industrialisation (Johannesburg, Witwatersrand University Press, 1996),
vii + 278 pp, ISBN 1 86814 296 5
Ben Fine, a well-known academic commentator on labour and economic matters in
South Africa, is Professor of Economics at
the School of Oriental and African Studies
at the University of London. His co-author,
Zavareh Rustomjee, was Director General
113
Kleio XXXII, 2000
of the South African Department of Trade
and Industry at the time of writing the
book.
The authors make the valid point that
the discipline of political economy is
underdeveloped in this country and their
own contribution goes some way to address this situation. A historical dimension
is integral to their approach and they go
back to the inter-war years to identify the
economic and political factors which
meshed to determine the path of the postwar development and its implications for
the current economic dispensation.
They move away from the generalities in
the race-class debate and white ethnic
dualism to focus more on the expression
of these interests in economic activity
itself. Of particular interest here is their
analysis of the structure, organisation and
mode of functioning of the commercial
world.
The presentation is nuanced and acutely
aware of historical trajectories. The
authors identify three overlapping phases
in the development of the capitalist class.
The 50s saw the steady growth of Afrikaner capital, its interpenetration with Afrikaner capital in the 60s and their
combined increased collaboration through
the state from the 70s onwards This
created the conditions for a concentrated
economic strategy on the part of the state.
However, as a result of sanctions under
apartheid, disinvestment and social unrest
a fully coherent industrial policy failed to
mature.
Nevertheless, certain productive and
infrastructural capacities have been built
up around its core sectors. These need to
permeate the economy as a whole in order
to begin to address the basic needs of the
poor. In such a process, runs the argument, the interests of labour should be
paramount, otherwise the most likely outcome would be that only a small segment
of the black population would benefit.
The presentation underscores the fragile
economic underpinnings of wider political
projects such as nation building and social
upliftment. Mainstream economists would
114
in all likelihood differ from the authors'
left-leaning analyses, but for historians
concerned about the shifting impact of the
economy on political and ultimately social
life, there is much to reflect upon in this
book.
Albert Grundlingh
Jan-Bart Gewald, Herero heroes: a sociopolitical history of the Herero of
Namibia 1890±1923 (Oxford, James
Currey, Cape Town, David Philip and
Athens, Ohio University Press, 1999),
v + 310 pp, index. ISBN 0-82141257-4
Namibian historiography has progressed
in leaps and bounds over the last two
decades. It is encouraging to note that this
includes the work of social historians who
are also casting their `historical nets'
beyond South Africa and becoming interested in a wider social history of southern
Africa. Jan-Bart Gewald's Herero heroes
adds to a growing number publications in
this field of research. Although the book
has its origins in a doctoral thesis conferred by the University of Leiden, the
author is by no means a novice historian,
and has published widely on a range of
topics. Herero heroes was first published
in 1996 by CNWS Publications in Leiden
under the title of Gewald's thesis, Towards redemption: a socio-political history of the Herero of Namibia between
1890 and 1923.
As the title suggests, Gewald outlines
the social and political history of the
Herero. In particular, he focuses on the
struggles of this marginalised indigenous
community to retain their identity under
the pressure of colonial influence: firstly
that of the Germans who occupied the
region from 1884, followed by that of the
South Africans who defeated the Germans
in 1915. The author has consulted a wide
range of archival and secondary sources
which he has used to produce a wellwritten and well-structured piece of academic work. The text is organised chron-
Kleio XXXII, 2000
ologically and each chapter is discussed
within a particular time frame.
The origins of Herero society can be
traced back to AD 1100 when the ancestors of the Herero established themselves
in central Namibia as crop-cultivators and
pastoralists. Gewald provides an overview
history of Herero society up to 1891 when
Samuel Maharero succeeded his father
Chief Maherero Tjamuaha. He describes
this event in great detail and explains how
Samuel Maharero became paramount
chief.
Considerable attention is paid to the
effects which disease and natural disasters
had on Herero society. Gewald devotes a
full chapter to the rinderpest disaster
which ravaged the entire southern African
region. Under the heading `The curse of
Kahimemua', he describes how, prior to
his brutal execution, the chief of the
Ovambanderu people, Kahimemua Nguvauava, cursed the Germans and the land
as a whole, when he predicted the outbreak of rinderpest among the cattle,
followed by war (p 110). A year later
Kahimemua's predictions were realised.
Namibia is a semi-desert country and
Gewald highlights masterfully how a combination of environmental factors and
natural disasters such as disease, drought
and famine, effectively altered and reshaped the course of Herero history during
the colonial period. Central to Gewald's
study is the role of the rinderpest in
undermining Herero society. He views this
disaster as a major factor in precipitating
the decline of Herero independence. The
aftermath was devastating and led to land
losses, relocation, poverty and famine.
This effectively destabilised Herero society to such an extent that it allowed the
Namibian-bound German military forces to
subject some Herero communities to German colonial rule. Rinderpest affected not
only Namibia, but the entire southern
African region, which included South
Africa, Botswana and Zimbabwe. Gewald
sums up the effect of rinderpest on Herero
society as follows:
Rinderpest did not merely kill cattle; it
was the death knell of an independent
Herero society as a whole. Following
rinderpest, Herero society lost its land,
people and cattle, and sank into further
debt. It became dependent on the
colonial state for, in the form of
reserves ... settlers for credit and employment, and on the mission for
religious guidance (pp 139±140).
At the turn of the century southern
African societies were at war with colonial
forces. In South Africa, the South African
War or Anglo-Boer War ended in 1902 and
two years later, colonial Namibia was
engaged in its own war against the Germans. In January 1904 the Herero-German
conflict broke out and ended effectively
four years later when the last Herero
prisoners were released (p 141, fn). Gewald devotes considerable attention to the
war effort and explains its commencement
as following à series of misunderstandings' (p 141). To attribute the origins of
the Herero-German war in Namibia solely
to à series of misunderstandings' raises
questions and must be a point of criticism
of an otherwise focused debate.
The penultimate chapter entitled `The
histories of the Old Testament teach us',
deals with the reconstruction of Herero
society with the help of the Rhenish
Missionary Society. Many Herero communities found solace in missionary Christianity and used it to their advantage to
rebuild and re-establish themselves as a
viable society.
In conclusion, Gewald states that `Herero society was refounded [and] ... came
together to create ... a single Herero
identity' (p 289). On this point, Gewald
fails to explore whether or not the death of
Samuel Maharero in 1923 sparked some
kind of Herero nationalism. The book is in
essence a well-disguised biography of
Samuel Maherero. To my knowledge, it
has no immediate rival and as far as I
know, has elicited favourable reviews
from several critics and historians. The
author acknowledges that he has written a
115
Kleio XXXII, 2000
`history of the male elite' and challenges
historians to research òther Herero
chiefs, chiefdoms, councillors, evangelists,
women and children' (p 289) to provide a
more complete history.
The book is very reader-friendly and is
embellished with maps, photographs, statistics and a useful index. Overall, the
author and publishers ought to be congratulated on bringing out a good scholarly
publication which highlights aspects of the
history of the Herero people of Namibia
within a specific time frame. The book is
somewhat expensive, but will be useful for
students, historians and the wider public
interested in Namibian history.
Russel Viljoen
P J Greyling, Pretoria en die AngloBoereoorlog: 'n gids tot geboue, terreine, grafte en monumente. Pretoria and the Anglo-Boer War: a guide
of buildings, terrains, graves and
monuments (Pretoria, Protea Book
House, 2000), 128 pp, photos, maps,
addenda, index. ISBN 1-919825-01-0
This slim soft-covered book is a veritable
mine of useful information for anyone who
is interested in the history of Pretoria.
More particularly, it is obligatory reading
for those who have been bitten by the
Anglo-Boer War centenary bug. Modestly
billed as a guide, it provides instead a
number of excellent little cameos on the
homes, public buildings and many of the
personalities of the capital of the Transvaal both before the occupation by the
British on 5 June 1900 and in the period
thereafter until the signing of the Treaty of
Vereeniging in Melrose House on 31 May
1902. As it moves methodically through
the streets of the `rose-bowered town' (in
the words of a Pretoria resident during the
war, Mrs T J Rodda) there is a numbered
map of each area to guide the reader to the
historic site. Most of the important places
have been photographed and these have
been reproduced in full colour. There are
116
also a few contemporary black and white
photographs of the original buildings that
have since been demolished.
In addition to descriptive entries on the
public buildings, terrains, graves and
monuments which the title promises, there
is much more. The homes of prominent
Boer War personalities such as Jan Smuts,
Sammy Marks, Thomas Beckett and Eddie
Bourke are also identified and there are
useful notes on a number of important
themes in Pretoria's Anglo-Boer War history, notably the occupation of Pretoria in
June 1900, the military government of the
town thereafter, and some of the
skirmishes which took place on the outskirts of the town and in the nearby
Magaliesberg Mountains. Three particularly well-chosen documents are reproduced at the back of the book: the Boer
ultimatum to the British government on 9
October 1899, Conyngham Greene's response on behalf of Britain and finally, the
Peace Treaty of Vereeniging 31 May 1902,
complete with copies of the signatures
which were put to the agreement.
Although the book is proudly marketed
as being `fully bilingual', and the advantages of this are undeniable, it is also one
of its flaws. The text is printed in two
columns, with the Afrikaans text on the
left and the English alongside, which in
itself is something of an irritation when
the eye moves from one page to the next.
This also means that a page of, say, four
photographs, has eight captions, often
printed one underneath the other, giving
the layout a cluttered feel and making it
quite an exercise to find the correct
caption in the appropriate language. Added
to this, the original text was obviously in
Afrikaans and the English translation is
rather stilted, with little feel for the
history. On p 106 there are `gold-diggers'
in Pilgrim's Rest instead of prospectors
(p 106) and the buildings of Pretoria's
Staatsartillerie which are waardige getuies van 'n stukkie ryk militeÃre geskiedenis are èvidence of a promising part of
the ZAR's military history (p 95). But
mistakes like these are minor irritations
Kleio XXXII, 2000
in a book that is, after all, a guide to
historic sites, and which provides the
reader with a great deal of accurate
information. It has no lofty literary pretensions and reads pleasantly enough. It
should be most useful to tour guides, and
will certainly have many of us setting off
to discover old buildings, graves and
ruined forts that we have somehow been
aware of in our midst all these years.
The work was compiled at the request of
the Friends of the War Museum of the Boer
Republics, Bloemfontein, as part of a
project to produce a series of regional
books on the Anglo-Boer War, the first of
which appeared in 1998. The author
explains that the original request was to
produce a guide to cover the whole of
Gauteng, but that it soon became clear that
Pretoria's rich history of the period was
more than enough for a separate publication and a similar guide is being planned to
cover Anglo-Boer War sites in and around
Johannesburg. This will be eagerly
awaited if it is as good as its Pretoria
counterpart.
This guide to Pretoria and the AngloBoer War was published by Protea Book
House and it is appropriate here to offer
this particular publishing establishment,
under the direction of Nicol Stassen, a vote
of thanks from those of us who think that
books and particularly history books deserve to see the light of day. His book
house ± literally a converted house in
Burnett Street, Pretoria ± is always abuzz
with activity as book lovers lose themselves in the maze of well-stocked shelves.
Stassen (a Pretoria University graduate
in chemical engineering who also holds a
Unisa degree in languages, including Russian), is passionately interested in history
and is extremely knowledgeable about a
wide range of important historical issues.
He is acutely aware that what we know
about the Anglo-Boer War needs to be
published now while there is public interest in this period of our history. He also
plans to make these books available in
Britain and to the vast American market.
While most other publishers have been
reluctant to produce books for a comparatively small South African readership,
Protea has produced new, improved editions of important works such as Albert
Grundlingh's Hendsoppers en joiners, Van
Wyk Smith's Drummer Hodge and the
handy military history of the war by G D
Scholtz. There are also works on local
Pretoria heroine of the war, Johanna
Brandt, including a reprint of her own
Kappiekommando. The Boer War diaries
of De Villebois-Mareuil and J D Kestell,
and an edited version of the diary written
in Pretoria by Bessie Collins are in preparation, as is a book on Pretoria during
the war and one on General Ben Viljoen.
Stassen apparently also has other AngloBoer War books in the pipeline, both for
academic and for a wider readership,
which he plans to publish before time runs
out and the peace treaty is signed in
Pretoria in 2002.
The only other South African publishers
who have been prepared to put their backs
to the Anglo-Boer War wheel are Jonathan
Ball (who also collaborated with Protea to
publish an Afrikaans abridged version of
Pakenham's classic Boer War) and J P van
der Walt, who has concentrated on more
popular works about the war ± an endeavour which also has great merit. In a
society which is showing progressively
less interest in the human and social
sciences and indeed in reading anything
at all, historians and all those people out
there who are interested in knowing about
our past must grasp at every available
straw.
Bridget Theron
R W Johnson and David Welsh (eds),
Ironic victory: Liberalism in postliberation South Africa (Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1998),
X + 420, bibl, index. ISBN 0-19571684-1
This is a collection of nineteen essays on
South African liberalism since 1994. The
117
Kleio XXXII, 2000
various essays cover notions of liberalism,
its status amongst South Africans and its
usefulness in understanding contemporary
politics, affirmative action, the press,
education, the church, law, and the South
African constitution. The main aim of the
book is to explain why liberalism is seen as
racist by many blacks in a country where
its principles are entrenched in the new
constitution.
A striking feature of South Africa's first
fully democratic election in 1994 was that
the Democratic Party (DP), the main
political platform of South African liberalism and the successor to the Progressive
parties which had an honourable history of
opposing apartheid, was all but wiped out.
It only polled a poor 1.7% of the vote and
secured only seven MPs in a National
Assembly of 400 members. The National
Party (NP) with its dark and unsavoury
past managed, by contrast, to secure
20.4% of the vote and returned 82 members (MPs) to parliament. It is ironic that
many NP MPs who had supported apartheid, states of emergencies and detention
without trial were returned to parliament,
while most of the DP MPs who had
opposed racial dominance failed to do so.
The reason for this apparant contradiction
was that South African liberalism had
become a victim of the country's turbulent
past.
Since the 1940s South African liberalism
has been slandered, misrepresented and
vilified by both the political left and the
right. On the right the NP portrayed
liberals as traitors and communists and
ridiculed them as useful stooges of the
communist cause, calling them impractical
and naive intellectual dreamers. The liberals who had campaigned for the removal
of race discrimination and the extension of
full political rights to blacks were regarded
by the NP as a Trojan Horse for communism.
For their part, African nationalists
scorned liberals as agents of capitalism,
maintainers of the dominance of white
culture and underminers of the revolutionary struggle. They attacked the DP and
118
its predecessors for participating in the
parliamentary system, for criticising the
armed struggle and for opposing international sanctions and the disinvestment
campaign. Those actions labelled liberals,
such as Helen Suzman, as racist agents of
apartheid working to blunt the struggle.
Thus both the NP and the African National
Congress (ANC) accused liberals who
wanted to speak to both sides of trimming,
opportunism and cowardice.
As the white minority increasingly discovered the value of liberalism after 1994,
right-wing enmity evaporated and many
former conservatives now embrace the DP
and liberal values. Among black intellectuals, however, the perception of white
liberals as closet racists has become even
more entrenched. As Prof W M Makgoba, a
vehement critic of white liberals, puts it:
Òne of the rudest things to do today is to
call a South African, in particular a white
South African, ... a liberal.'
Patrick Laurence concurs in his essay
`Liberalism and politics' that South Africa
is awash with hostility towards and
suspicion of liberals. According to him
these sentiments often emerge in the
transformation of institutions to bring
them in harmony with the post-apartheid
ethos. Liberals who dare to question this
process are targeted for abuse. He refers
to the `Makgoba affair' at the University of
the Witwatersrand as an example of
antagonism roused against liberals.
The `Makgoba affair' was the result of
senior white academics who questioned
the competence and integrity of Prof W M
Makgoba, the then deputy vice-chancellor
and a prospective candidate to become
vice-chancellor of the University of the
Witwatersrand. These academics were
accused of resisting transformation and
castigated with abusive epithets which
smeared them as individuals and liberalism as a political philosophy. This contributed to the image of white liberals as
hypocritical defenders of privilege.
M W Makgoba's essay Òppositions,
difficulties, and tensions between liberalism and African thought' makes an im-
Kleio XXXII, 2000
portant contribution to explain black intellectual perceptions of white liberals as
racists. His central theme is that the DP
had hijacked the liberal mantle and does
not represent genuine liberalism. These
`liberals' are only driven in their cause by
the protection of apartheid gained privileges and the acceptance of the consequences of inequality. According to
Makgoba this subtle and sophisticated
racism of white liberals is the greatest
challenge to democracy in South Africa.
R W Johnson's essay `The best of enemies? Black intellectuals and white liberals' is a direct response to Makgoba's
criticism. He is of the opinion that the
vituperation of white liberals is the result
of their exposure of corruption, the pointing out of the weaknesses and failings of
affirmative action, and its criticism of the
ANC. Johnson also sees liberal refusal to
accept the collective guilt of whites for
apartheid crimes as an important factor in
the rejection of liberalism. This refusal,
according to Johnson, leads to emotional
tirades from black intellectuals in which
the term `liberal' becomes detached from
historical reality.
In the concluding essay,`Liberalism and
the future of South Africa's new democracy', Johnson argues that although liberals find themselves embattled after 1994,
their case is far from hopeless. According
to him liberal-democratic hopes rest
mainly on the constitution which is liberal
in spirit, and this combined with political
stability and economic growth could encourage liberal values to grow by a process
of political osmosis. He also sees concerted
pressure from the West contributing to the
building of a South African liberal society.
Johnson concludes that the years ahead
will be a testing time for liberals, but
provided that they can keep their nerve,
there will be no end in sight for their
tradition.
F A Mouton
Gert Oostindie (ed), Het verleden onder
ogen: herdenking van de slavernij
(Amsterdam, Uitgeverij Arena/Prins
Claus Fonds, 1999), 233 pp, notes,
ISBN 90 6974 376 0)
The histories of the slave trade and the
system of slavery in the colonised states
between the seventeenth and the nineteenth centuries consist of frightening
tales of human suffering and blatant
inhumanity. Dutch traders and businessmen played a prominent role in the profitable slave trade, and slavery as such was
introduced in Surinam and the Netherlands Antilles. The trade was officially
abolished in 1807 when those colonies
were under British control, but slavery in
the Dutch colonies continued to exist until
1863, 29 years after England had abolished it and 15 years after the French had
done so. The decision was delayed because
the question of financial compensation ± to
the slave-owners, not to the slaves! ± took
a long time to be resolved. The Netherlands was no different from other nations
with colonies where slavery was the
predominant form of exploitative labour
(the issue of compensation was resolved in
the same way in other countries). Nor is
the country at present different in its
apparent unwillingness to come to terms
with this part of its history. The lateness
of the decision to abolish slavery (only
Spain and Brazil responded to the problem
later) and the obvious discrepancy with
national pride in being a progressive
nation, then and now, make the Dutch
case a special one. The reasons for this
case of collective amnesia are difficult to
trace, and, given the focus of this publication, none is really offered here. It would
make an interesting theme for a book on
Dutch self-investigation of the past. What
can be said with some degree of confidence
is that processes which have influenced a
shift in thinking on the impact of slavery,
such as decolonisation, post-colonial experiences and globalisation, are recent
developments or have increased in pace
over the past two decades.
119
Kleio XXXII, 2000
The publication of this volume is the
result of growing and persistent dissatisfaction on the part of people from the
former colonies (most of whom reside or
have at one time resided in the Netherlands and are Dutch citizens) with the
unresolvedness of the legacy of slavery.
This dissatisfaction is expressed in a
number of issues which finally appear to
be receiving attention from politicians and
official organisations (such as the `Prins
Claus Fonds' which made the publication
possible). These include: a call for the
official recognition of slavery as a crime
against humanity by the government and a
proper official statement from that government that there exists a national responsibility for the perpetration of this crime; a
call for monetary compensation to the
descendants of former slaves, along the
lines of German and Swiss reparation to
the descendants of the Jewish victims of
the Holocaust; a visible symbol of identification, be it a national monument, a
museum devoted to the study of slavery
in the colonies, an exhibition on the scale
of those organised in Liverpool and Bristol,
or a cultural festival; an increasing awareness by the majority of the Dutch population of this part of their collective history,
perhaps to be achieved by the re-writing of
history books used in schools.
The editor and some of the contributors
do not hide the fact that at the present
there is no consensus among the various
groups and organisations claiming to represent the interests of the Afro-Caribbeans in the Netherlands, nor do they
ignore the fact that there are also people
who believe that the establishment of a
national monument will not address (or
redress) more immediate problems, or who
show no interest in the matter at all. It is
evident that the above issues are intimately related, but that they should
perhaps be addressed separately. A national monument dedicated to the abolishment of slavery can serve as a focus for the
development of identity among the slaves'
descendants, but it might not incorporate
the majority of the Dutch population.
120
Whatever form future initiatives are going
to take, it is imperative that they are
comprehensive and long-lasting. In this
regard, the recent concern with the fading
interest in keeping the memory of World
War II alive should be a proper warning.
After all, one is dealing here with national
sentiment, a most unwieldy concept.
The volume is divided into two parts.
The first part assembles contributions
from the Netherlands, Surinam and the
Netherlands Antilles, while the second
part includes contributions from the USA,
South America, England, Africa and South
Africa (Carl Niehaus; Nigel Worden). The
inclusion of the international perspective
is welcome, for it demonstrates quite
clearly that the Netherlands was not
exceptional in their ùnwillingness' to
incorporate slavery as a crime against
humanity and its legacies in their past
and present histories. On this (admittedly
Dutch) reader, however, the contributions
in the first part had a more direct impact.
This is perhaps the case because they
strike a harmonious equilibrium between
emotional involvement and common sense.
Their voices make it difficult to ignore the
seriousness of the issue. The views of
outsiders, so to speak, can only complement the picture drawn in the first part,
but they can never be a proper substitute
for the kind of sentiments expressed there.
In other words, although the quest for
identity against the background of a
destructive past is an experience shared
by most people from the former colonies,
no matter to which mother-country they
belonged, the problems issuing from it
have to be addressed on a specific national
level.
The initiative to give official recognition
to the growing dissatisfaction with national history as the constructed past of
the majority (cf Frank Martinus Arion's
contribution: those who are ready to
accept the achievements of the past must
also accept the corollary that much of
what has been achieved was done by
oppressing and exploiting others) is necessary and timely. One can only hope that
Kleio XXXII, 2000
this work will reach a wide readership,
and the least it can be expected to do is to
set a discussion going on how to prioritise
the various issues. Also, one needs to find
a reasonable balance between international initiatives (the most interesting
proposal in this regard is a series of
similar monuments in countries which
have benefited or suffered from slavery)
and purely national requirements.
Altogether, this is an impressive collection of eloquent testimonies on the immediate problems resulting from the
legacies of colonialism and slavery. There
is sufficient balance and common sense in
the presentation, the right instruments to
further discussion rather than risking the
danger that it will be stifled in the initial
stages. Monetary compensation is obviously the most controversial issue, and
it is perhaps no coincidence that organisations which make this a primary claim are
not represented in the volume. It is
dismissed without exception as being too
problematic by most of the contributors.
Both by nationals and foreigners the issue
is sophisticatedly redrawn in the form of
bursaries and increased opportunities to
participate in education and professional
life. The volume was produced after the
French government had orchestrated a
widely publicised series of celebrations
dedicated to the abolishment of slavery in
1848. As some of the responses in this
book make clear, the French government
made no consistent effort to address the
legacy of slavery. For the Dutch there
remains an eminent opportunity to do
something constructive in 2002 when the
founding of the VOC will be celebrated.
Marc Kleijwegt
Fransjohan Pretorius, Life on commando during the Anglo-Boer War 1899±
1902 (Cape Town, Pretoria and Johannesburg, Human & Rousseau,
1999), 479 pp, bibl, index. ISBN
0 7981 3808 4
The Afrikaans version of this work, Kommandolewe tydens die Anglo-Boereoorlog
1899-1902 (Human & Rousseau, 1991) was
received with well-deserved acclaim, and
awarded the Recht Malan Prize in 1992,
the Old Mutual Prize in 1995 and the
Rapportryers Prize for non-fiction in 1997.
The Ernest Oppenheimer Memorial Trust
provided financial assistance for the translation of this book into English, and in
June 2000 it was runner-up for the
prestigious Alan Paton prize for nonfiction. Because of the wide acclaim it
has received, this outstanding work gives
international exposure to the life of the
òrdinary' burghers who were combatants
in this traumatic war. Pretorius spent 10
years researching the topic, showing the
lengths to which an historian will go to
ensure that all available material is consulted. In 11 chapters he has provided an
exhaustive discussion of life on commando
during the Anglo-Boer War.
The basic needs of the burghers on
commando are discussed in the first
chapter, and a detailed account is given
of the problems experienced in the day-today supply of provisions during the different phases of the war. The role played by
the government commissariat during this
period is also scrutinised. In the following
chapters the focus falls on the supply of
clothing, tents, arms and ammunition. The
author discusses potentially uninteresting
subjects in such a lively manner that he
retains the attention of the reader throughout. We are told, for example, that Boer
women formed sewing circles and made
clothes from the fabric, thread and buttons
provided by the Supply Commission. This
clothing was apparently sturdier than
clothes supplied by the governments of
the two Boer republics, and in a letter to
the Middelburg work centre the women
were assured that `... their labour ``stimulated our burghers to greater endeavour,
courage and zeal'' ' (p 61).
A distinction is made between `looting',
when British supplies were confiscated
after a successful attack, and the practice
of uitskud during the guerilla phase of the
121
Kleio XXXII, 2000
war, when burghers exchanged their rags
with the uniforms taken from British
prisoners of war. This provoked a mixed
response from the British soldiers but
often humour prevailed, as recounted by
Pretorius: `... There stood the khakies,
with their sunburnt noses and spotty
faces, neatly lined up wearing old ragged
clothes. In some cases their hair stuck out
of the holes in their hats. Some of them
were furious, while others laughed heartily at each other and at themselves' (p 73).
One of the many joys of this excellent
book is the fine line between humour and
the horror of war. Without under-estimating the physical and emotional devastation
of the conflict, Pretorius maintains a
balance between this and the will not only
to survive, but to cling to normalcy under
very trying circumstances. This is amply
illustrated in chapters 4 and 5: Ìn and
around the laager' and Èxperience of the
war situation'. Influenced by the South
African weather, entire laagers were
usually resting at about noon and boredom
was common. Practical jokes were often
played on comrades, and burghers who
were easily frightened became the butt of
pranks. To pass the time burghers would
use improvised tools to make beautiful
carvings from wood or bone. Card games
were popular and Pretorius recounts various interesting incidents. There were also
debating societies which discussed political and military policy and their gatherings were keenly attended. Mock courts
with `wild and woolly' (p 121) charges
also enjoyed great popularity. Although
books, newspapers and periodicals were
hard to come by, reading was also important. Pretorius confirms the traditional
view, based on a variety of sources, that
the Boers were keen readers of the Bible.
In chapter 6, `Religion on commando' is
scrutinised and after a short but comprehensive summary of the various churches
and congregations in the Boer republics,
Pretorius analyses the piety of the Boers
and the high priority afforded to all forms
of religious fervour. Services held in the
open veld were moving experiences but,
122
according to several witnesses, the singing
did not live up to expectation and European commentators were less than flattering about the `Boer's vocal talents'
(p 163). The war deepened the spiritual
lives of many Boers and `... not only
strengthened the faith of the pious, but
also touched the indifferent ones' (p 172).
Military discipline was one of the major
problems facing the Boer commanders.
Chapter 7 looks at the way in which law
was enforced while burghers were on
commando. Pretorius discusses the differences in discipline between the Boer forces
and their professional European counterparts, and studies the advantages and
disadvantages of the lack of discipline in
Boer ranks. In past wars and on hunting
expeditions, the Boers had learned to rely
on their own judgement and their attitude
towards discipline was that: `having complied with the law calling him into the field
[of war], he yielded cooperation, not
obedience.' (p 191). The burghers had not
been trained or drilled to carry out orders
and to obey their officers blindly. Their
only formal training sessions before the
war were the field-days or Bisleys held
twice or three times a year. The fieldcornets and commandants were often their
close friends ± democratically elected ±
and the burghers did not, therefore, regard
these officers as their military superiors.
Pretorius uses several very interesting
examples to underscore this, and he also
points out the extent to which the wagon
laagers, especially during the initial phase
of the war, hampered movement. Laagers
had lost the protective function they had
fulfilled in the nineteenth century.
In a `Table of burghers on leave and
absent without leave' (p 209) Pretorius
clearly illustrates the inability of the
authorities to enforce leave regulations,
and also the discord among Boer leaders
on this issue. During the guerilla phase of
the war, commandos were transformed
into battle units and self-interest gradually
disappeared. This resulted in a dramatic
improvement in military discipline but it
never reached the point where officers
Kleio XXXII, 2000
could at all times depend on the burghers.
Pretorius takes a close look at looting,
theft and alcohol abuse on commando and
after careful analysis of the available
documentation, he reaches the conclusion
that pillaging cannot be ascribed exclusively to people from the lower classes.
The Boer commanders went to great
lengths to discourage looting, but with
little success. In March 1900 President
Paul Kruger expressed his profound disappointment at this moral weakness
among his people. He compared the situation with that experienced in biblical times
by King David who was twice defeated as a
result of èvil among his own people'
(p 226).
In chapters 8, 9 and 10 the emphasis is
on relations between fellow combatants;
attitudes to and contact with blacks; and
attitudes towards women. In these three
chapters Pretorius once again shows the
thoroughness of his research and his
exceptional ability to analyse and interpret
the material. He assesses the group solidarity of the burghers, the relationship
between young and old, that between
Transvalers and Free Staters, as well as
Boer attitudes towards English-speakers,
ex-colonials and foreign volunteers. The
burghers were traditionally individualistic, but the war situation bred strong
group solidarity: when a comrade was lost
everyone was deeply affected. Corporalships of 12 to 18 men were spontaneously
formed. Family groups, and often members of the same church congregations,
joined the same corporalship. When faced
by danger, conflict and quarrels were
often settled beforehand so that the burghers could meet their foes with a united
front.
Pretorius provides interesting statistics
on the age of the burghers on commando
(p 237). He looks into the role of the
penkoppe, boys younger than 20, who
took part in the war. Men in their 60s,
70s and, in some cases, 80s were often
used for guard duties to release younger
men for more active duty. The strong Boer
tradition of patriarchal authority ensured
that the younger burghers respected the
elderly.
The author also includes an analysis of
the role of the English-speaking burghers
on commando, of whom little was previously known. In general, foreign volunteers did not impress the Boer leaders, and
the rank and file held them in contempt for
lacking the basic fighting skills taught
from childhood to Boer children. AntiDutch sentiment was strong, and foreigners were often insulted or ignored by the
Boers. Individual foreign volunteers were,
however, usually accepted.
Another facet of the war which Pretorius
handles well is the issue of social distinction. The burghers on commando reflected
the social and economic profile of the
Boers as a whole. There was no social
distinction between the officers and the
ordinary burghers. Officers were accessible to the extent that privacy became
impossible and military information was
often handled with insufficient secrecy.
Pretorius also cites many instances of
favouritism and nepotism. Changes in
leadership are analysed, as are the implications of the rise of a new elite in Boer
ranks, the so-called bitterenders.
The book also contains a detailed discussion of the attitude and contact between Boers and blacks. On commando the
traditional Boer perception of white superiority prevailed, although black grooms,
known as agterryers (literally, those who
rode behind), were treated with a heavyhanded, paternalistic goodwill. In September 1899 Sir Alfred Milner, British High
Commissioner in South Africa, and Joseph
Chamberlain, British Colonial Secretary,
agreed that the war between Britain and
the Boer republics should be a `white
man's war' (p 266), but within weeks after
the outbreak of the war, black scouts and
dispatch riders were equipped with firearms by the British. As the war progressed
the British also used black people extensively for non-combatant duties such as
scouting and intelligence. The reaction of
the Boers to this breach of promise, was
one of shock, because the Boer tradition
123
Kleio XXXII, 2000
was to keep indigenous people out of the
white battle arena and to them the arming
of blacks was unthinkable. According to
the author, who gives a comprehensive
analysis of the whole issue, the large scale
participation of armed blacks and incidents such as the murder of 56 burghers at
Holkrans on 5 May 1902, contributed
directly to peace treaty of Vereeniging.
Pretorius notes the voluntary and enforced
assistance by blacks to the Boer commandos, as well as the role of blacks as
collaborators. The part played by the
agterryers is also discussed in detail and
their important logistical contribution in
battles and skirmishes is stressed. The
agterryers were often assimilated into the
commandos and their important role drew
comment from `friend and foe' alike
(p 288).
In chapter 10 the attitude of the burghers towards women is scrutinised and
this makes very interesting reading. Pretorius divides the chapter into a number of
sections which deal inter alia with contact
with women during the first year of the
war; the attitude of the burghers towards
the concentration camps; the support
enjoyed by the burghers from the women
in the field during the guerilla phase of the
war; social intercourse during this phase
and, finally, with morals on commando. He
questions whether there were armed women on commando (apart from the few
well-known exceptions). In this penultimate chapter Pretorius has done pioneer
research and presents his findings to the
reader in a clear, unadorned style that
makes the book so eminently readable. In
the Afrikaans version his many tongue-incheek asides contribute to the enjoyment
of the work, but some of these have been
lost in the English translation. The book is
lengthy, but is so well written that this
should not discourage the avid Anglo-Boer
War reader.
The final chapter is entitled `The bitter
end' and here Pretorius focuses on the last
desperate months of this war which had
dragged on for two years and eight
months. It was a war which was to
124
influence all South Africans for many
decades to come and has to a large extent
shaped the destiny of this country.
The book also has useful endnotes which
provide additional information, and the
bibliography is an exhaustive list of
sources consulted. The added value of the
source list is that it can be used as a
checklist of available publications and
unpublished sources on the war right up
to 1998. Despite the fact that an avalanche
of new books on the war have since been
published, Life on commando will certainly retain its place for generations to
come.
Dione} Prinsloo
Nigel Penn, Rogues, rebels and runaways: eighteenth-century Cape
characters (Cape Town, David Philip
Publishers, 1999), viii + 195 pp,
map, endnotes, index. ISBN 0 86486
386 1
Nigel Penn's interest in `rogues, rebels and
runaways' stretches back well over a
decade ± three of the five chapters of this
highly readable and revealing book were
published in academic journals between
1985 and 1990 ± and he has thus displayed
considerable vision in tapping into the
historical dimensions of one of the most
topical issues of modern South Africa:
violence and criminality. In case we had
any doubt, the world of the eighteenthcentury Cape exposed through Penn's
skilful narratives was an extraordinarily
turbulent and ruthless one, in which
innumerable forms of physical abuse were
a constant menace and a far-from-uncommon experience for many people. Some of
Penn's comments in his introduction,
referring of course to his period, have an
uncomfortably contemporary application:
òrdinary men and women would have
been fortunate to avoid becoming either a
victim or a perpetrator of this violence'
(p 7). Indeed, the enduring popular image
of the `fairest Cape' of the allegedly
Kleio XXXII, 2000
ùneventful' Company period is yet again
exposed as vastly misleading.
It could be argued, of course, that the
people who form the focus of this book ±
the brewer Willem Menssink, the rebel
Estienne Barbier, the farmer Carel Buijtendag, and a collection of fugitives,
criminals and drosters ± were atypical
individuals whose lives were so extraordinary that sound conclusions about eighteenth-century Cape society cannot
possibly be drawn from their various
recorded narratives. However, Penn's vast
knowledge of the period is put to good use
throughout the book, as he is constantly
aware of the connections and tensions
between individual and society, the exception and the norm, and the periphery and
the centre. Through his meticulous research and close scrutiny of these ùnimportant' and `superfluous' people, the
wider context is brilliantly illuminated.
As a result, Rogues, rebels and runaways
is certainly one of the most significant
texts ± as well as one of the most
accessible ± yet produced on this relatively
neglected period.
The fact that the last three chapters
have appeared in other guises before ought
not to attract censure, as their inclusion
provides a far fuller picture of Cape
society than would otherwise have been
the case. It is in any case good to have easy
access to this earlier work, and to be
reminded of its ongoing significance.
The 'new' material (roughly two-thirds
of the whole publication) is in the initial
two chapters, the first of which, on Willem
Menssink, is a tour de force of historical
reconstruction and narration. A more
improbable and wanton reprobate as
Menssink is unlikely to emerge in any
other than a southern African context;
truth is indeed stranger than fiction. The
web of entangled relationships, both domestic and within and beyond his brewery, make for bizarre but utterly absorbing
reading. Any attempt at a summary of the
various passions, schemes and activities of
Menssink would not adequately do justice
to the tale: but it is indeed a rich story,
brimming with copious amounts of drama,
tragedy, horror and farce. As Menssink's
biographer, Penn must have enjoyed following the numerous tortuous and devious
paths of his life.
If chapter 1 examines in great detail the
machinations of an incomparable `rogue',
chapter 2 is a rather more conventional
account of the lives and fluid identities of a
wide range of `runaways' on the northern
frontier of the Cape over a period of about
a century. Penn provides useful analysis of
the precarious existence among droster
communities, whose composition was often very mixed. Some of the descriptions
of fugitive life are gruesome in the extreme, as the interests of refugees from the
colony diverged markedly from those of
the more established elements of colonial
society; more gory murders than some
depicted here defy imagination (for example, pp 82±85). Towards the end of the
chapter, there is also a very valuable
discussion of the `Bastaard' and Oorlam
(pp 92±99) `categories', which fluctuated
enormously through the period.
Critics might be suspicious of the
author's attraction to the range of rather
grisly and dubious individuals who form
the subject of this book. There is no doubt
that he flirts in positive terms with the
romantic appeal that many of them offer.
They were `rogues' and `characters' who
possessed ìrrepressible qualities' (p 1)
and who lived ìntrinsically fascinating
human dramas' (p 2). Fugitives were the
`true pioneers of the colonial frontier'
(p 98). Yet Penn's clear empathy with
many of his diverse cast of characters is
never excessive or indulgent; his judgments are astute and his analysis sober
and balanced. Penn's achievement in combining story with evaluation is therefore
considerable.
Penn is also, I think, slightly too defensive of his approach to the past. He
mentions a colleague's àmused scepticism
of my style of writing' (p vii), and mounts
a brief but very passionate crusade on
behalf of historical narrative, citing even
Hayden White (p 5) to give his cause
125
Kleio XXXII, 2000
legitimacy. I would venture to suggest
that, if history is to gain ground during
these dark times, well-told narratives and
well-grounded ìmaginative creations'
which are `constrained by the evidence'
(p 5) will do far more to win new adherents to the cause than lengthy earnest
tomes on worthy topics. Penn's superb
narrative abilities do not only bring much
light and life to the dim world of the
eighteenth-century Cape, but they provide
inspiration to all writers and readers of
history. This is, above all, a hugely
enjoyable book, and ought to have a wide
readership; it deserves the largest possible
audience.
Nicholas Southey
Deneys Reitz (edited by T S Emslie), The
Deneys Reitz trilogy. Adrift on the
open veld: the Anglo-Boer War and
its aftermath, 1899±1943 (Cape
Town, Stormberg, 1999), 560 pp,
photos, map, consolidated index.
ISBN 0-620-24380-5
This new addition to the ever-growing list
of works on aspects of the Anglo-Boer War
(South African War) re-publishes Deneys
Reitz's three best sellers, Commando,
Trekking on and No outspan, that were
first published in 1929, 1933 and 1943
respectively. It is not the intention here to
comment at length on the content of each
work, but rather to see them as a joint
publication, a fresh look at three lively
accounts of consecutive slices of South
African history written by a well-known
`son of the soil'.
Deneys Reitz, one of five sons, grew up
in the Orange Free State where his father,
F W Reitz, was president of the republic.
Here he often saw eminent republicans
such as Kruger and Joubert, come and go,
and his father also hosted official visits
from men on the other side of the political
divide such as Sir Henry Loch and Cecil
Rhodes. After a period of illness which
forced his resignation, F W Reitz accepted
126
an appointment as State Secretary of the
South African Republic and the family
moved to Pretoria, where the young
Deneys became all too aware of the high
tensions and drama of the impending war.
As a 17-year old daredevil he seems to
have enjoyed it all immensely, glorying in
the `rising excitement [and] the crack of
rifles from the surrounding hills where
hundreds of men were having target
practice. Crowded trains left for the coast
with refugees flying from the coming
storm, and business was at a standstill.'
He promptly joined the Pretoria Commando and with his new Mauser carbine and a
bandolier of ammunition `returned home
pleased and proud'(p 14).
This is the prelude to Deneys's first
story ± a story of nearly three years of
adventure experienced by a brave young
man on commando for the entire course of
the war. It is a stirring account ± arguably
the best personal account by a burgher on
commando during the Anglo-Boer War, and
certainly, in my opinion, the most readable. In his preface J C Smuts calls
Commando à wonderful book ± wonderful
in its simplicity and realism, its calm
intensity and absorbing human interest ...
[an] ... intimate picture ... [that] ... gives
us the inner truth of the war. We see how
human beings react under the most terrible stresses to the passion of patriotism.
... And the effect is all the more striking
because the story is so simple and unadorned and objective' (p 9). High praise
indeed from so eminent a critic and one
who himself was also a combatant, albeit
in a leading role, in the same gruelling
encounter.
There are many interesting insights into
the war to be gleaned from Commando,
including the lack of Boer discipline, the
rationale behind the shameful Boer plundering of Dundee, the burghers' attitude
towards their agterryers, the growing
demoralisation in the ranks, the 'numberless things' the British army trundled
along with them, and the sheer incompetence of the Boer leaders in the first
months of the war. Reitz is unequivocal
Kleio XXXII, 2000
on this latter point; he makes no bones
about the fact that 'no one treated our
Commander-in Chief [Joubert] very seriously' (p 24), although Joubert's eloquent
and determined successor, Louis Botha,
was clearly of a different calibre. Nor did
the young Reitz have any respect for the
junior commanders under whom he
fought: `they were incompetent leaders'
he writes, but they were `true men nevertheless': which appears, for the ordinary
burghers, to have been good enough.
Even after the sting of defeat, with the
signing of the Treaty of Vereeniging on 31
May 1902, Deneys was stubbornly unrepentant. For him there was no whining. He
refused to accept that victory by an army
of 400 000 British soldiers meant disgrace
to 18 000 burghers. Despite the protests of
the little grey English officer sitting at a
table under the trees at Balmoral, Reitz
and his men fired away their remaining
ammunition and smashed their rifle-butts
before surrendering their weapons. Some
burghers were prepared to sign the British
allegiance agreement, but like his father
and brothers, Deneys refused to do so,
which meant that he had to leave the
country and go into self-imposed exile.
Commando then gives way to Trekking
on and the reader is able to follow Deneys
Reitz's period of exile in Madagascar, his
return to South Africa in 1905 and the
three years he spent living with Isie and
Jan Smuts, `the two people to whom I owe
most in the world' (p 211). Botha was a
frequent visitor at the Smuts home and
Reitz's political convictions became firmly
entrenched: he was to follow Botha and
Smuts and all that they stood for, for the
rest of his days. Reitz then settled down to
run a legal practice in the northern Free
State town of Heilbron. But not for long.
Never one to stand aside when trouble was
brewing, he did his bit to help quell the
1914 rebellion before leaving South Africa
to fight in the First World War in German
West and East Africa in `those strange
half-forgotten campaigns ... against the
far-off German colonies' (p 187). Unable
to resist the lure of fighting in Europe in
Book reviews/Boekbesprekingsl
the `greatest war in the history of the
world', he rather surprisingly decided to
join the British army in 1916 to fight, as he
himself explains, 'not for the British but
with the British', rising to command the
First Royal Scots Fusiliers by the end of
the war.
Of the three books Trekking on is
perhaps the least appealing work to someone whose interest is focused primarily on
events in South Africa. This is probably
because it is also a more diffuse account
and because it covers a rather mundane
period (relatively speaking) of the author's
life, sandwiched between the high adventure of a young daredevil in the Anglo-Boer
War and his political career as a mature
politician and a member of the Union
cabinet under Smuts.
No Outspan is all about Deneys Reitz's
public life and central to this is his keen
interest in the conservation of South
Africa's wildlife. In 1921 he was elected
to parliament and became the Minister of
Lands under Prime Minister Smuts. This
gave him the opportunity to travel to the
more remote parts of South Africa ±
something which he loved to do. After an
excursion to the Sabie and Komati lowcountry area he realised that concerted
action was needed if Kruger's dream of a
nature reserve there was to become a
reality. It was Reitz who drafted the
original Bill which would eventually declare the Sabie reserve as the Kruger
National Park, now a world-renowned
nature sanctuary. In 1924 the United Party
lost the election and it was left to the new
Pact government to pass the legislation
which Reitz had initiated, but as a member
of the Board of Trustees he later took an
active role in the development of the park
and soon after his re-election as MP for
Barberton in the 1929 election he bought a
tract of land nearby which he called
Sandringham and which is today part of
a private game park adjoining the Kruger
Park.
In No outspan Reitz also gives an
interesting account of the economic and
political crisis in South Africa in 1932, the
127
Kleio XXXII, 2000
formation of the United Party and his own
re-entry into the cabinet. In the election of
1933 he was returned unopposed as
Member of Parliament (MP) for Barberton
and his wife Leila became the first woman
South African MP in the constituency of
Parktown in Johannesburg. At the end of
1934 Deneys exchanged his portfolio for
that of Minister of Agriculture and in this
capacity he was instrumental in the building of the Vaal-Harts scheme as well as
`dotting the Union with other irrigation
dams' (p 492). With war looming, Reitz
was given the portfolio of Mines.
The final chapter of No outspan ends as
the first chapter of Commando begins:
with a first hand account of a crisis in
South African affairs. This time it is the
impasse in parliament and the cabinet
over South Africa's participation in the
Second World War. Reitz makes it an
equally enthralling tale, with Smuts preserving an inscrutable `sphinx-like silence'
before the crucial sitting and Hertzog,
`caught in a mesh ... pale and tense'. This
has to be one of the best renditions of the
incident which drew to a close with the
formation of a new cabinet on 6 September
1939. General Smuts was to be the Prime
Minister and Reitz was named Deputy
Prime Minister and Minister of Native
Affairs. As Reitz so rightly says, àll this
may sound small beer to the outside world
but to South Africa it was a mighty event,
as vital to us as were the stones and frogs
in the fable, and the country rocked on its
foundations' (p 519).
This trilogy is not without flaws (like the
unfortunate typo on p 11 which reads
1904 instead of 1894) but it is a wonderful
read for anyone with the time and interest
to wade through 544 pages of South
African history. It tends to ramble on a
bit in parts, because Reitz has a penchant
for detail, but one can after all read each of
the three books separately. Certainly in
this trilogy one can see the Anglo-Boer War
in close as well as in wider perspective, all
of it from the pen of an intelligent man who
is a good story-teller. There is a short but
useful introduction by TS Emslie and there
128
are also some new, very interesting photographs from the Reitz family collection.
The useful combined index is an excellent
idea on the part of the publishers.
Ever since I first laid eyes on this book I
have been wanting to end this review on an
unusual note: its cover! Emslie writes that
he hopes `that people often will judge a
book by its cover'. This cover prompts one
to do just that. Designer Joy Wrench
brilliantly captures the very essence of
the trilogy's composite title: Adrift on the
open veld.
Bridget Theron
Pamela Scully, Liberating the family?
Gender and British slave emancipation in the rural western Cape, South
Africa, 1823±1853 (Portsmouth, NH,
Oxford and Cape Town, Heinemann,
James Currey and David Philip, 1997),
xiii + 210 pp, map, tables, bibl, index. ISBN 0 85255 628 4
Pamela Scully has, during the last decade,
published accomplished and pioneering
work on the rural western Cape during
the nineteenth century, and most particularly on the post-emancipation period.
After graduating at the University of Cape
Town, where her early work on criminality
and social relations in the Stellenbosch
district helped to establish her reputation
as a young scholar of exceptional ability,
Scully moved to the University of Michigan, where she developed an interest in
questions surrounding the nature of colonial culture, gender, sexuality and identity. This has resulted in the publication of
a number of articles in leading international journals in recent years, and this
monograph, which is based on Scully's
doctoral thesis, represents the culmination
thus far of her concern with and exploration of the historical construction of race,
gender and colonialism.
This study moves far beyond what other
historians of Cape slavery have revealed
about the political and economic shifts
Kleio XXXII, 2000
that occurred during the emancipation
period. It argues that amelioration in
1823 initiated a thirty-year period of
fundamental recasting of family, gender
and sexual relations among all the various
communities that comprised Cape colonial
society. Identity ± or `histories of identification' (p 2) ± was deeply embedded in the
construction of colonial society as the
system of slavery unravelled and was
dismantled; beliefs about the respective
roles of women and men had to be
renegotiated. Gender relations therefore
`formed a central component of the political and social imagination of ex-slaves,
abolitionists and colonial officials' (p 3).
These identities were often extremely fluid
and ambiguous; importantly, they often
crossed race and class lines, as newly
emancipated people sought to define themselves within a changing political economy.
Liberating the family? is divided into
three quite distinct sections. Part I, which
`provides a contextual background' (p 15),
is concerned with the period between the
start of amelioration in 1823 until the end
of apprenticeship in 1838, and investigates
the challenges posed by slaves to slaveholders during the period in which emancipation became a reality. Owners had
controlled not only the labour of slaves,
but also their bodies, identities and habits;
amelioration and emancipation enabled
slaves to repudiate their owners' authority
and explore and demarcate new meanings
for themselves and their relationships.
Gender relations, family bonds, and
boundaries between public and private
spaces were all crucial areas of contestation during this period.
Part II follows chronologically from part
I, and examines the decade from emancipation in 1838 to 1848. This was the
decade in which personal connections
between slaves were tested to their limit,
because former slaves had relatively limited space in which to manouevre.
Although the majority of ex-slaves were
forced to work as dependent labourers on
white-owned farms, they were frequently
able to negotiate the terms on which they
offered their labour. Legislation framed by
the governing classes attempted to impose
gendered hierarchies on Cape society;
while gendered divisions of labour were
certainly present, the forms which they
took differed considerably from the assumptions made by the ruling classes.
Scully shows that the attempts to shape
post-emancipation Cape society were as
much a `massive cultural project to mold
and reshape the work, leisure habits, and
private lives of a whole class of people'
(p 105) as anything else.
In part III, which fits rather awkwardly
with the material presented before, Scully
covers much the same chronological period as that of part II, though she does push
through into the decade of the 1850s. The
three chapters which comprise this section
deal respectively with marriage, infanticide and rape, and the conflicting and
ambivalent significance and meaning of
these among the different colonial groups.
These chapters are undoubtedly pioneering, but Scully's arguments are sometimes
necessarily constrained by the nature of
the evidence. She is only too aware of the
difficulties of capturing accurately the
opinions and beliefs of the subordinate
men and women in colonial society, as her
notes on methodology reveal (see especially pp 12±13). This comes through
especially in these three chapters, where
conclusions, though quite boldly put forward, are sometimes tentative. For example, in looking at the cases of six women
who faced trial for infanticide, Scully
acknowledges that, in the absence of the
èxact histories' of these women, ìt is
difficult to write of their longings and
feelings, of their cultural perceptions of
the world around them' (p146).
One aspect of the book that does present
difficulties is the density of writing and
presentation. Perhaps it is more a reflection on this reviewer than the author, but
the narrative lacks fluency and is seldom
easy to read. The arguments are sometimes laboured and perhaps unnecessarily
complex. Sadly, the many individual case
129
Kleio XXXII, 2000
studies and the numerous glimpses offered
into lives of individuals at the Cape remain
rather solid and one-dimensional; the
characters seldom come to life.
Nonetheless, this does not detract from
the significance of Scully's achievement.
Historians sceptical of the centrality of
gender to historical analysis would do well
to ponder and digest this challenging and
persuasive monograph. The success of
Liberating the family? is two-fold. It
makes a major contribution to our understanding of post-emancipation society in
the western Cape, raising many questions
and opening new avenues of inquiry. At the
same time, it is without question one of the
most sophisticated analyses yet to appear
of any period of South African history
using gender as a key category of analysis.
As such, it represents a very notable,
indeed profound, historiographical
achievement.
Nicholas Southey
Gerald Shaw, The Cape Times: an informal history (Cape Town, David
Philip, 1999), xi + 378 pp, illus, bibl,
index. ISBN 0864 86404 3
The Cape Times is South Africa's oldest
and first daily newspaper, dating back to
the edition of 27 March 1876. F Y St
Leger, its founder and first editor, modelled the new paper on The Times of
London as a journal of record. St Leger
was also the founding father of the newspaper's vigorous tradition of independent
journalism. The paper championed the
ideals of the British empire. St Leger and
his successor, Edmund Garrett, had an
exalted conception of imperial duty and
service. They deplored any corruption or
abuse of imperial power and responsibility. The Cape Times was also supportive of
Cape liberalism with its principles of a
constitutional government, individual liberty and a non-racial franchise. Cape
liberalism, with the support of The Cape
130
Times did not, however, advocate social
equality between black and white.
The Cape Times tradition of independent journalism, together with its role as
public watchdog and supporter of Cape
liberal values, were maintained by a
succession of outstanding editors. One of
the greatest was B K Long who was in the
editorial chair from 1921 to 1935. During
his editorship the paper did much to prod
white complacency on racial prejudice by
focusing on the poverty and misery of
blacks and coloureds. For a paper circulating mainly in the white community, the
The Cape Times gave significant space to
black viewpoints. In January 1930 it
exposed the torture of black prisoners by
the police in Paarl. This led to the
prosecution of the policemen in question
but, in a classic example of the miscarriage
of justice, they were acquitted by an allwhite jury.
An outraged Long wrote an editorial,
`White justice?', in which he denounced
the white jurymen of Paarl and accused
them of perverting justice. One of the
jurors, a Mr le Roux, successfully sued
the The Cape Times for defamation and the
court awarded him £100 plus costs. The
paper also had to negotiate a settlement
with the other nine jurymen, paying each
£50 and their legal costs.
Long fought a lone battle against the
Riotous Assembly Bill of 1930 which gave
the government despotic power to deal
with black agitation. Despite Long's efforts, whites remained apathetic about the
suppression of the black majority. Long
was, however, not a saint and was very
much a man of his time and his quest for
social justice did not entail social equality
between races. He was, for example,
prepared to accept a compromise which
allowed the removal of blacks from the
common voters roll in the Cape Province.
Long, for whom politics was the art of the
possible, felt that in an increasingly reactionary South Africa the non-racial Cape
franchise was doomed. In an attempt to
save some of their political rights he
accepted the compromise to place black
Kleio XXXII, 2000
voters on a separate voters roll with the
right to elect three white parliamentary
representatives.
Long's support of a separate voters roll
for blacks did not make him a racist, but
according to Shaw he cannot be acquitted
of being an anti-semite. With him in
charge, The Cape Times maintained a
xenophobic attitude to Jewish immigration
into South Africa.
Despite his shortcomings, Long was a
brilliant editor, but even his admirers
were occasionally taken aback by his rash
and impulsive behaviour. He unleashed a
controversy on 7 November 1929 when he
maligned the deceased Sir J B Robinson, a
gold and diamond-mining magnate. Long
was furious that Robinson made no public
bequests, unlike Rhodes who had founded
the Rhodes scholarships. As a result the
deceased magnate was denounced as
mean, malignant, evil and as a domestic
tyrant. According to Shaw the subsequent
controversy was one of the most bitter and
acrimonious ever to have raged in the
columns of the The Cape Times. The
Robinson affair caused Long immense
embarrassment when, under the impression that Robinson had donated his art
collection to South Africa, he made amends
in a leading article. The only problem was
that the Robinson collection had not been
given to the nation.
The Long era came to an end in February
1935 as the directors of the The Cape
Times felt restive about the shrinking
profit-making of the paper. It was felt that
the paper was too academic and dull and
had to go down-market to become more
profitable. Long also had the misfortune
that Robert Allister, the general manager
of the The Cape Times, who was an
unpleasant bully and schemer, undermined him over many years. Although
many of Long's political opinions can be
judged negatively today, he was a courageous editor and a fine reporter who
deserves a place in the pantheon of South
African journalism. Long entered parliament in 1938 as a member of the United
Party (UP). In September 1939 he deliv-
ered an outstanding speech in the House of
Assembly that played a crucial role in
convincing some wavering parliamentarians to support the motion to declare war
against Nazi-Germany.
Long's successors, especially Victor
Norton (1944 to 1973), maintained the
paper's tradition of independent journalism. Norton was an outstanding editor and
supported the ideals of Cape liberalism
which, according to Anthony Delius, a poet
and the paper's parliamentary correspondent, was a curious amalgam of Victorian
liberalism compromised with colour prejudice. Norton's liberalism did, however,
place him in outright opposition to the
National Party (NP) government whose
apartheid policies he opposed with vigour.
Quoting Delius, Shaw states that Norton's
criticism of apartheid in his leading articles were as powerful and biting as `the
crack of a long whip'. Norton had, however, to face the same constraints as Long,
namely the difficult task of combining a
critical stance to the country's reactionary
racial policies with the desire to generate a
profit for the paper's owners. This meant
that The Cape Times could never stray too
far from its white readers and advertisers.
During Norton's long editorship the
English-speaking press found itself in the
front line of opposition to the NP, especially as the UP in its capacity as the
official parliamentary opposition became
increasingly irrelevant. The government
waged a war of attrition against the
English-speaking press. It used numerous
security laws to curtail and undermine
their ability to report on apartheid. Delius's criticisms, for example, led to his
permanent barring from the parliamentary
press gallery. Despite these difficulties the
paper did much to expose the cruelty and
absurdities of apartheid. Yet The Cape
Times was criticised by many on the left of
the political spectrum as being too lukewarm in its opposition to apartheid. The
reason for this was Norton's loyal support
for the feeble and conservative UP. He
always hoped that the NP would split and
131
Kleio XXXII, 2000
that this could lead to a coalition between
the UP and a dissenting element in the NP.
Apart from coping with the threats of the
NP government, The Cape Times also had
to deal with the uncertainty that corporate
battles for the ownership of the paper had
created. Yet, in spite of commercial and
other pressures, Norton maintained editorial authority and independence to control the content and policy of the paper.
Norton was succeeded in 1971 by
Anthony Heard whose editorship had its
own share of unsettling corporate politics.
These included an attempt by Louis Luyt
to gain control of The Cape Times parent
company as part of a covert operation by
the NP government. The bid failed and,
with Heard in charge, the paper became
even more outspoken in its opposition to
apartheid.
P W Botha took the criticisms of The
Cape Times badly and personally attacked
Heard in parliament. Although vilified at
home, Heard gained international recognition for his courage in exposing apartheid
crimes. In August 1987, as the paper's
circulation and revenue slumped, Heard,
as had been the case with Long, found that
an international reputation was not enough to save him from dismissal. Many
Heard admirers believed that he was
removed as a result of his outspoken
opposition to apartheid, an accusation
firmly denied by the paper's management.
Heard was succeeded by Koos Viviers who
was also an outspoken opponent of apartheid until the birth of the 'new' South
Africa.
Gerald Shaw, a former assistant editor
of The Cape Times, must be complimented
on an outstanding book. It is well researched, highly readable with its Cromwellian warts-and-all honesty. It is,
however, obvious that Shaw has never
been a sports writer. Tony O'Reilly,
manager of the Independent Group which
owns the The Cape Times, was a star of
the 1955 visiting Lions rugby team, not
that of 1970. This is, however, an insignificant error and the book is compulsory
reading for those with an interest in
132
journalism, or in South Africa's turbulent
history. It is an especially important
contribution to understanding the complex
and ambiguous position of white liberal
journalists in the past. Although the Cape
Times occasionally faltered, it remained
from its inception a flag around which
honest people could rally to maintain
liberal standards.
F A Mouton
Hennie van Deventer, Kroniek van 'n
koerantman: 'n persoonlike perspektief op die jare na `80 (Kaapstad,
Tarlehoet, 1998), 196 pp. ISBN 0-62023333-8
During the apartheid era, the Afrikaans
press was perceived as a willing lapdog of
the National Party (NP) and the Afrikaner
establishment. The reality was, however,
far more complex and ambiguous, as
Hennie van Deventer's memoirs indicate.
Van Deventer, an editor of Die Volksblad between 1980 and 1992 and a
veteran of 35 years in journalism, is wellqualified to tell the story of the emancipation of the Afrikaans press in the 1980s.
Being a journalist was all Van Deventer
ever wanted to be. He joined the staff of
Nasionale Pers's Die Volksblad in Bloemfontein in 1962, after the completion of his
studies at the University of Pretoria. He
immediately became one of the rising stars
in Nasionale Pers's stable of journalists.
Die Volksblad was then the National
Party's mouthpiece in the Free State, and a
very loyal supporter of the party and its
policies. This was a position which Van
Deventer, as a politically conservative
journalist, fully supported. His personal
political pilgrimage from a conservative to
being seen as a dangerous liberal by ultraconservative Afrikaners, started in 1974.
This was when he joined the legendary
Schalk Pienaar, a leading `verligte' and
independent spirit, as a founding member
of Beeld, a new Nasionale Pers daily in
Johannesburg. Beeld was far more `verlig'
Kleio XXXII, 2000
and critical of the NP than its sister
papers, especially Die Volksblad. Bart
Zaaiman, editor of Die Volksblad, felt
uncomfortable about the new paper's
`verligte' and provocative journalism.
Apart from the influence of `verligte'
colleagues, such as Ton Vosloo and Johannes Grosskopf in Johannesburg, Van
Deventer's political enlightenment was
further encouraged by the year he spent
at Harvard University as a Nieman Fellow
in 1976.
Shortly before his fortieth birthday Van
Deventer was appointed editor of Die
Volksblad. Bart Zaaiman and the Free
State Afrikaner establishment were unhappy about this and attempts were made to
block the appointment. Zaaiman feared
that Van Deventer's period at Beeld had
tainted him with liberalism and that he
would alienate Die Volksblad's readership.
In contrast to his predecessor Van Deventer did use the paper to encourage political
reforms, and to influence Afrikaners to
change their mentality of superiority over
and intolerance towards blacks. In this he
fought an uphill battle as the Free State
whites were very conservative and wary of
the slightest change in attitude. The
majority of whites simply did not care
about the daily humiliations blacks had to
endure. The reluctance to adapt to a
changing world was bolstered by the
founding of the ultra-conservative Conservative Party (CP) in 1982. The Free State
became one of the CP's strongholds as it
exploited and mobilised the unease over
P W Botha's reforms. In this context, Die
Volksblad became a lightning rod for
conservative anger and angst.
The CP leadership thought of Van Deventer as a traitor to the Afrikaner cause.
His pugnacious and unrepentant attitude
aggravated the CP's resentment. As a
result of this anger, a smear campaign
developed against Van Deventer and his
newspaper. An anonymous pamphlet was
distributed, urging a boycott of Die Volksblad claiming that purchasing a copy of
the paper was an indication of support for
the African National Congress (ANC). For
Van Deventer this campaign of vilification
was made more painful by the fact that
many in the CP leadership were former
school and university friends. The paramilitary Afrikaner Weerstandsbeweging
(AWB) also enthusiastically participated
in hounding Van Deventer and his family
with threathening telephone calls and
letters. These were not idle threats as
shots were fired at offices of Die Volksblad, and one of the newspaper's photographers was badly beaten by AWB thugs.
What made Van Deventer's position
even more difficult was that, apart from
the hatred of the ultra-conservatives, his
impatience with the slow progress of
reforms did not endear him to the NP
government. This was aggravated by his
attempts to make Die Volksblad more than
an obedient servant to the NP. In addition
his unhappiness with censorship also
caused friction. Like his counterparts in
the English-speaking press, Van Deventer
was frustrated by the battery of legislation
that restricted the free flow of information. Apart from this legislation there was
also a culture that the Afrikaans press had
to avoid news that could cause discomfort
to the government and security forces. Any
criticism of the Defence Force was, for
example, seen as playing into the hands of
the ANC. P W Botha, with his notoriously
short fuse, did not take kindly to any
criticism or advice. Van Deventer was a
regular target of the `Groot Krokodil's'
anger and frustration. Because of the
regular bolts of fury emanating from
Tuynhuis, the presidential office became
popularly known as `kruithuis' among
journalists. Free State NP politicians,
who were used to Die Volksblad being a
loyal praise singer of the party, also placed
demands on the editor. One egotistical
parliamentarian insisted on more flattering press photographs of himself. The
1980s were stormy and traumatic years
for Van Deventer, but he felt vindicated
when the majority of Free State whites
supported F W de Klerk's reforms in the
1992 referendum.
133
Kleio XXXII, 2000
The strength of this book is its honesty.
Van Deventer does not romanticise or
exaggerated the influence of the Afrikaans
press in the apartheid era, and is not blind
to its faults. He admits that he personally
should have done more to expose the
atrocities committed by the security
forces.
Kroniek van 'n koerantman is spellbinding and essential reading for those
who want to know more about the Afrikaans press, and its role in bringing about
reform in South Africa.
F A Mouton
Chris N van der Merwe and Michael Rice
(compilers), A century of Anglo-Boer
War stories (Johannesburg, Jonathan
Ball, 1999), 349 pp ISBN 1 86842 093 0
`When people ask me ± as they often do ±
how it is that I can tell the best stories of
anybody in the Transvaal (Oom Schalk
Lourens said modestly) ... the thing I say
to them is a lie, of course ... For it is not
the story that counts. What matters is the
way you tell it ... Another necessary thing
is to know what part of the story to leave
out.'
Herman Charles Bosman, `Mafeking
Road', in A century of Anglo-Boer War
stories, p 298.
Historians will also be interested in the
part of the story which has been `left out',
but they will be pleasantly surprised by
the wide range and diversity of the 34
stories included in A century of AngloBoer War stories, as well as by the
description and discussion of different
facets of the Anglo-Boer War. In this
selection by Chris van der Merwe (Associate Professor in Afrikaans and Dutch
Literature at the University of Cape Town)
and Michael Rice (who is currently working as an independent educational and
development consultant) `quality' was the
major concern, `but sometimes ... political
and ideological significance also played a
part' (p 9).
134
Civilian involvement in the Anglo-Boer
War runs as a thread through this selection of poems and stories from the twentieth century. Some were originally
written in English while others have been
translated from Afrikaans. The different
(and the similar) experiences of Englishspeakers, Afrikaners and blacks in the
traumatic times of the war, form the
backbone of this anthology. The introduction (pp 2±31) offers an excellent overview
of the literature on the Anglo-Boer War and
the book can be widely recommended if
only for this. The excellent stories are an
added bonus.
Short stories and excerpts from longer
works by a wide range of well-known
authors, for example Rudyard Kipling,
Olive Schreiner, Stuart Cloete, and Herman Charles Bosman, are complemented
by translations into English of the work by
popular Afrikaans poets such as C Louis
Leipoldt, Jan F E Celliers, Totius, and
EugeÁne Marais, and authors such as F W
Reitz, Gustav Preller, J van Melle, Toon
van den Heever and others. In some cases
the English reading public will, for the
first time, be introduced to the work of
prominent Afrikaans authors like J C
Steyn, Elsa Joubert, Ettienne Leroux,
Karel Schoeman and Christoffel Coetzee.
Contributions by Sol Plaatje and A H M
Scholtz illustrate that all communities in
South Africa were affected by this war.
Grover's Ì killed a man at Graspan',
(p 154) pays tribute to the Australians
and shows the horror of ordinary people
caught up in a war which was not of their
making. Thomas Hardy's `Drummer
Hodge' commemorates those who found
eternal rest under `foreign constellations'
(p 157).
This collection of stories mirrors the
changing attitudes to the war as the
twentieth century progressed. In the first
phase, directly after the war, English
fiction was dominated by support for
imperialism or antagonism towards it ±
sometimes couched in language which is
today no longer considered politically
correct. The South African author, Olive
Kleio XXXII, 2000
Schreiner, for example, writing at the time
of the Anglo-Boer War felt that the `war
was a squalid affair in which men died for
dubious causes and women were left in
ruins simply to endure' (p 18).
According to the compilers, the second
phase of English writing about the war,
from 1914 to 1945, propagated an ìmplicit ideological commitment to the Union
of South Africa' (p 19). The union of the
two white groups was seen as the solution
to South Africa's problems. In contrast,
Afrikaans writing during the same period
took the form of an increase in the
publication of war diaries and fiction on
the war. Van der Merwe and Rice find that
these writings to a large extent confirm
traditional Afrikaner views and perceptions on the Anglo-Boer War. The unconventional Afrikaans author, Van Melle,
breaks out of this mould and uses universal human guilt as a theme, as illustrated in an extract taken from `Revenge'
(pp 190±198), translated by Madeleine
van Biljon. EugeÁne Marais also avoids the
typical themes on the war and he marginalises the role of the Boers so as to place
the Bushmen on central stage: `... the
narrator is more interested in Afrikaner
cattle than in Afrikaner heroes' (p 21). A
very positive point in favour of the stories
selected by Van der Merwe and Rice, is
that a wide variety of Afrikaner attitudes is
reflected.
The third phase in English writing on the
Anglo-Boer War ± that since 1948 ± exposes, according to the compilers, hidden
sins of the past. Earlier, Herman Charles
Bosman had touched upon issues of betrayal and the complexity of human motives, while Stuart Cloete had found
conflict àn excuse to tell a tale of high
adventure against the background of the
war' (p 24).
In the Afrikaans writing of the post-1948
period, Toon van der Heever portrays the
suffering of black people in the war and
`historical facts are less important here
than issues of general human relevance'
(p 25). In contrast to English fiction of the
time, religion plays a prominent part in
Afrikaans fiction and excellent examples
are included, such as J C Steyn's `Peace'
(pp 236±244) and an excerpt from `The
brunt of the war ...' (pp 245±252) taken
from Die reise van Isobelle (The journeys
of Isobelle) by Elsa Joubert.
A very valuable contribution is the
discussion of Christoffel Coetzee's Op soek
na Generaal Mannetjies Mentz (In search
of General Mannetjies Mentz). In this
prize-winning debut work `The real ``villian'' of the story is the war itself ... There
is clearly no such thing as a gentleman's
war' (p 29). The strong `historical basis' of
this fictitious work has deceived a number
of people. Van der Merwe and Rice
describe this novel as à study in evil,
which is always present but manifests
itself more clearly in times of war as cruel,
senseless violence and unrestrained sexuality' (p 30).
Jeanette Ferreira, the editor of Boereoorlogstories (Van Schaik, 1998) has also
collected 34 stories on the Anglo-Boer
War, but these were specifically commissioned and were written by established
authors. In A century of Anglo-Boer War
stories the compilers had to make their
selection from a vast number of stories
published over the last century. They are
to be congratulated on the representative
nature of their choice, although it is
perhaps debatable whether it was necessary to include as many as four of
Bosman's stories. This book is strongly
recommended for all readers with an
interest in the Anglo-Boer War. Appropriately, the compilers suggest that these
stories will be ìnterpreted and reinterpreted by every new generation' (p 31).
Dione} Prinsloo
J C Visagie, Voortrekkerstamouers
1835±1845 (Pretoria, Unisa Pers,
2000) xxii + 362pp, bibl, illus, register. ISBN 1 86888 060 5
Soos tereg in die voorwoord staan, sou 'n
mens eintlik van die geskiedskrywing oor
135
Kleio XXXII, 2000
soÂ 'n belangrike onderwerp verwag dat die
vrae oor wie die Voortrekkers was en
waarvandaan hulle gekom het, veel vroeeÈr
ondersoek moes gewees het. Waarskynlik
was dit die omvang van die taak wat vorige
navorsers afgeskrik het. Dit is dus aan die
deursettingsvermoeÈ van dr JC Visagie te
danke dat hierdie stuk geskiedenis uiteindelik geboekstaaf is ± seker die belangrikste werk wat die afgelope dekade oor
die Groot Trek gepubliseer is. Dit sal
ongetwyfeld 'n onmisbare toekomstige
bron vir genealoeÈ wees.
Vir so 'n omvangryke werk is dit
belangrik om kriteria vas tel stel waarvolgens die persone wat in die boek opgeneem
is, geselekteer is. Die jare 1836 tot 1838
word algemeen as die `trekjare' beskou en
om voorsiening te maak vir die àgternatrekkers', is die navorsing tot 1845 uitgebrei. Slegs Voortrekkergesinshoofde en
hulle vrouens is opgeneem; dus is persone
wat na 1825 gebore is nie as afsonderlike
items ingesluit nie. Daar het ook 'n
vermenging plaasgevind tussen die sogenoemde trekboere wat as gevolg van
ekonomiese redes geleidelik oos en noordooswaarts getrek het, en Voortrekkers. Die
twee groepe is nie van mekaar te onderskei
nie as gevolg van die gebrek aan dokumentasie. Alhoewel siviele kommissarisse en
ampsbekleeÈrs in die Kaapkolonie opdrag
gehad het om lyste by te hou van diegene
wat trek, is die lyste onvolledig en onnoukeurig, en moes die skrywer dit uit ander
argivale bronne aanvul. Die plasing binne
hulle breeÈr familieverband van die mense
wat uiteindelik in die boek opgeneem is,
het eiesoortige probleme opgelewer, en die
skrywer moes genealogiese navorsing doen
in veral kerkregisters. Dit is egter juis die
plasing van die genealogiese nommer by
elke gesinhoof wat die werk so 'n kosbare
bron van genealogiese inligting maak. Die
skrywer het ook 'n opsomming gemaak van
die name van die bekendste Voortrekkerleiers en die aantal gesinne wat saam met
hulle getrek het, en 'n statistiese uitsteensetting word gegee van die aantal trekkers
wat uit die verskillende distrikte en wyke
in die Kaapkolonie getrek het. Hierdie
136
gegewens is aangevul met vyf kaarte wat
in 'n handige sakkie agter in die boek is:
kaarte van die distrikte. Albany, George,
Graaff-Reinet, Somerset, Swellendam en
Uitenhage soos dit in ongeveer 1825 tot
1836 was. (Die kaarte alleen maak dit
reeds die moeite werd om die boek te
koop.)
Die alfabetiese beskrywende lys van
Voortrekkerstamouers beslaan 294 bladsye van die boek. Elke inskrywing staan
duidelik uit en gee, waar bekend, die
persoon se genealogiese nommer (sy plek
in sy breeÈr familieverband, byvoorbeeld
TREGARDT, Louis, b2c4, was die vierde
seun, dws c4, van die tweede seun, b2, van
die stamvader TREGARDT, altyd a). Dan
volg daar by elke inskrywing, indien
bekend, sy geboorte- en/of doopdatum,
sterfdatum en met wie hy getroud was.
Sy vrou word ook ten volle geõÈ dentifiseer.
Sy woonplek in die Kaapkolonie en sy
trekdatum word aangegee, en ook waarheen hy getrek het. Aan die einde van die
inskrywing volg 'n verwysing na al die
bronne waaruit die inligting verkry is.
Gelukkig was daar hier en daar foto's
beskikbaar van die Voortrekkers om die
boek kleurvol te maak. Die foto wat by die
Louis Tregardt-inskrywing voorkom, se
egtheid word egter steeds deur baie historici bevraagteken omdat hy reeds in 1838
oorlede is. Agter in die boek is ook foto's
van plase of grafte van Voortrekkers.
Wanneer 'n trekker glad nie geõÈ dentifiseer kon word nie, word dit so aangedui,
maar daar volg wel gegewens oor sy
huwelik en sy vrou. Soms word die term
òngeõÈ dentifiseer' afgewissel met òngeklassifiseerd'; die rede vir die gebruik
van die twee verskillende terme is nie
dadelik duidelik nie.
Die boek bevat 'n volledige bronnelys en,
besonder waardevol, 'n register wat nie
net na elke van in die boek verwys nie,
maar ook na die verskillende plekname wat
voorkom.
Hierdie boek getuig van omvangryke
navorsing uit 'n groot verskeidenheid
bronne. Dit was 'n baie groot taak vir een
navorser om al hierdie inligting bymekaar
Kleio XXXII, 2000
te bring, en dit is 'n besonder waardevolle
toevoeging tot die Suid-Afrikaanse geskiedskrywing. Die boek word sterk aanbeveel
by alle historici wat in die Groot Trek
belangstel en ook by alle genealoeÈ.
Linda ZoÈllner
Pretoria
General/Algemeen
K Theodore Hoppen, The mid-Victorian
generation, 1846±1886 (Oxford, Clarendon Press, 1998), xix + 787 pp,
plates, maps, tables, bibl, index. ISBN
0 19 822834 1
This is the third volume to appear in the
`New Oxford History of England' series,
the first of which, A polite and commercial people, England 1727±1783, was
published in 1989. The aim of the series,
a successor to the prestigious Òxford
history of England' series which appeared
earlier this century, is to provide an
account of the history of England in the
context of the development of the state
structure built round the English monarchy and its successor, the Crown in
Parliament.
Despite the declared aim of the series,
the two volumes which have previously
appeared offer far more than an account of
the development of England's state structure and The mid-Victorian generation
continues in the same vein. The book has
been written with three general contexts in
mind ± established industrialism, multiple
national identities and public culture.
These contexts are examined in four
sections ± part one examines society and
the state; part two the fabric of politics;
part three money and mentalities and part
four England and beyond. The decision on
the time span adopted for the book, from
the repeal of the Corn Laws in 1846 until
the defeat of Gladstone's first Home Rule
bill in 1886, is that these years are
commonly seen as the period of Liberal
ascendancy in England with Gladstone the
premier political figure.
To see how the state of English historiography has changed since the appearance of the volumes comprising the
Òxford History of England' series, it is
interesting to compare The mid-Victorian
generation with Sir Robert Ensor's England, 1870±1914 which was published in
1936.
The most striking difference is the
changed stress on politics. Despite the
said intention of this series to provide an
account of the history of England in the
context of the development of the state
structure, The mid-Victorian generation
departs in many respects from the markedly political structure of Ensor's work. In
England, 1870±1914 the interest in political figures and the importance attached
to them in the 1930s is obvious from a
glance at chapter titles such as `Gladstone's prime'; `The rule of Disraeli'; `The
ascendancy of Parnell' and so on. Chapters
such as these offer detailed descriptions of
political life and are very different to
Hoppen's more nuanced political approach
which places political developments in a
wider context and casts doubt on previously held assumptions on the nature of
the state and of politics.
While Ensor begins England, 1870±1914
with a political discussion; Hoppen's concerns are with society. In detailed chapters in part one, he traces the changing
face of English society in the mid-nineteenth century, looking at how industrialisation and the rapid spread of urbanisation had changed the condition of the
agrarian interest, the middle classes and
the working class. These chapters provide
a thorough analysis of English society and
the section concludes with an assessment
of the nature of the Victorian state,
relating its nature to what its functions
were deemed to be, as well as to what it
actually did for its people. By mid-century
there were growing expectations of the
state ± although there were considerable
differences of opinion on what these
expectations should be. The consolidation
of utilitarianism, however, and the reforming legislation of the period, ensured that
137
Kleio XXXII, 2000
the state was playing a larger role in the
lives of men and women ± and of children
too ± than had previously been the case.
And this despite the determination of
leaders such as Gladstone to maintain a
minimalist, non-interventionist state. It is
only once he has thus set the scene that
Hoppen turns to a discussion of political
developments.
The next major difference between the
approach of Ensor and that of Hoppen
reflects changing views of identity in
Britain between the 1930s and the 1990s.
To Ensor, it was quite conceivable to write
a history of England which virtually
ignored the component parts of the United
Kingdom or treated them as part of
England. Although it proved impossible
for him to ignore Irish developments,
Scotland and Wales do not even merit a
mention in the index. Such indifference,
indeed arrogance, has become unthinkable
in the 1990s with the resurgence of
national identities in the United Kingdom.
Hoppen, while acknowledging the fashioning of a British consciousness by Victorian
times, accordingly discusses conditions
and developments specifically in Scotland,
Wales and Ireland.
Changed attitudes to gender are also
strikingly evident in The mid-Victorian
generation. While Ensor looked only at
women's education and women's suffrage
± of obvious importance in a work which
covers the suffragette years ± Hoppen
includes in his brief, attitudes to women,
the place of women in the family, marriage
and divorce, sex, occupational opportunities and voluntary work and a whole
range of other aspects. His section on
marriage provides an extremely sympathetic discussion of gender relations and of
the position of women in the family ± of
cardinal importance in a society which
was only beginning to open diverse opportunities for women other than in marriage
or service.
Taken all in all, The mid-Victorian
generation is a worthy addition to the
`New Oxford history of England', offering
a sensitive approach to a period of great
138
complexity and of rapid social and political change. To a South African reviewer, a
more detailed examination of imperialism
would have been welcome, particularly of
the fluctuating policies towards colonialism. But this is a mere quibble. Far more
serious is the inclusion of a map of the
British empire in the 1890s which includes
the whole of southern Africa up to presentday Malawi in the South African Republic!
John Lambert
Michael Howard and Wm. Roger Louis
(eds), The Oxford history of the
twentieth century (Oxford and New
York, Oxford University Press, 1998),
xxii + 458 pp., bibl, illus, chronology, index. ISBN 0 19 820428 0
Globalisation has made world history
fashionable and has led to a retreat from
European histories in the undergraduate
curriculum. The Oxford history has sensibly kept European history in part II
under the title, `The Eurocentric world,
1900±1945', but deliberately situates it
within an international framework for the
rest of the century. The Cold War has a
section to itself and the `Wider world'
(part IV) is examined in nine chapters
towards the end of the anthology, before
the two excellent concluding chapters on
the `Close of the twentieth century' and
`Towards the twenty-first century'.
The main focus of the volume is mainstream European and American politics.
The history of the `rest of the world' is
construed in terms of area studies, moving
from East Asia and China to Africa and
Latin America. Attention is also given to
imperial history in chapters 8 and 24. The
Oxford history is therefore a rather conventional history of Western hegemony in
the twentieth century which reflects prevailing international power relations. This
conception is encapsulated in Alan Ryan's
discussion on the `Growth of a global
culture', in which he argues that
Kleio XXXII, 2000
... the bleak truth is that the countries of
the North Atlantic littoral have imposed
on the rest of the world ideals of
material prosperity and standards of
economic rationality that have proved
inescapable. It is an equally bleak truth
that they have failed to export much
else: a regard for human rights, the rule
of law, representative political institutions, for instance; and that, in the
process, much that was attractive and
life-enhancing in the culture of nonWestern societies has been destroyed
(p 64).
Part I provides overarching and rather
audacious chapters on demography, urbanisation, the expansion of knowlege, the
international economy and global cultures,
as well as physics and the visual arts.
Each author has tried to cover these
enormous topics in 10 to 15 pages,
designed for a general readership. The
synopses are often sophisticated and assume a good general knowledge of the
literature in each field. Established scholars have attempted to offer state-of-theart chapters which sometimes take up a
central issue and often include photographs, graphs or tables. Some chapters
are highly original, like Robert Skidelsky's
`Growth of the world economy' in 13
tightly argued pages which provides a
rubric for understanding the development
of Western capitalism from a liberal to
autarckic economy in the first half of the
century to a managed and then neo-liberal
economy in the second half.
Other chapters also provide an analytical overview of the twentieth century. The
first part of the book is therefore the most
profound section because it reflects on the
large historical processes that have shaped
our divided world. The wide-ranging discursive approach is evocative and should
help students of history to think more
laterally about causation. Curiously, however, Norbert Lynton's chapter on modernism and the visual arts does not include
any illustrations, while pictures of appro-
priate art works have been placed in other
chapters instead.
Part II takes us into the more familiar
world of the colonial empires, Europe and
the two World Wars, the Soviet Union, the
United States of America (USA) and Japan
between 1900 and 1945. Here, the best
chapters are written by Michael Howard
(9) and Hugh Brogan (11). Howard telescopes his vast knowledge of war and
society during the First and Second World
Wars into a breathless preÂcis. Brogan
explains the rise of the USA and highlights
some of its rich social history derived from
the `mixture of tradition and innovation'
which characterised the American way of
life in the first half of the twentieth
century (pp 128±138).
James Patterson offers a sequel on
America after 1945 in part III of the book.
He links domestic and foreign policy in a
discussion that moves flawlessly between
the baby boom, Billy Graham, Greenwich
Village and Cold-War politics (pp 164±
175). Both Brogan and Patterson avoid
the usual triumphalism of American history; their sense of irony combined with a
honed knowledge of US society offers a
satisfying òutside' perspective on the
Àmerican century'. The matching chapters on the Soviet Union (10 and 15) lack
some of this intellectual verve and tend to
be more conventional political histories, in
the vein of Anne Deighton's rather uninspired narrative account of the `Remaking
of Europe' (chapter 16).
If one is looking for a `World history',
then part IV of the Oxford history comes
nearest. Jonathan Spence's elegant assessment of China's century (chapter 18) is an
excellent introduction to such a complex
society, and in his inimitable way, Terence
Ranger surveys developments in sub-Saharan Africa with perspicacity in chapter
22. Ranger examines a range of failed
modernisations since independence and
charts the remarkable continuities with
late colonialism. Àfrican intellectuals', he
argues, `were embittered by the betrayal
of both promises of democracy and promises of development' (p 271). In his view,
139
Kleio XXXII, 2000
this was largely the result of white settlers
frustrating African advancement. Ranger's
concluding remarks about Africa's prospects will also be interesting to Africanists:
... one may have a qualified optimism.
After decades of suppression, peasants
and workers and entrepreneurs are
finding their various voices. The development failures of colonialism and of the
post-colonial state have ushered in a
more modest, gradual and promising
approach to change. There is reason to
suppose that Africa in the twenty-first
century can do more than relive in some
yet more extreme form the calamities of
the twentieth (p 276).
Connecting South and South, Alan
Knight's chapter on Latin America (23) is
an ambitious economic history of the
region. He shows how Latin American
states were increasingly integrated into
world trade as they experienced lucrative
± though dramatically fluctuating ± export
booms and how these made or deposed
governments, both authoritarian and democratic.
Part V is in many ways a conclusion to
the Oxford history. Wm Roger Louis looks
at globalisation after the end of the Cold
War (chapter 26). He focuses on the fall of
the Berlin Wall in 1989, the collapse of the
Soviet Union and the overthrow of apartheid in South Africa in 1994 as positive
events in the world at the end of the
twentieth century, since they represent
victories for democracy. He contrasts
these with genocide in Rwanda, war in
the Balkans, terrorism in Oklahoma City in
1995, and the disasters of famine and
disease in North Korean and Ethiopia, in a
poignant survey of the 1990s.
And, finally, Ralph Dahrendorf anticipates what globalisation is likely to mean
in the areas of economics, information,
ideology and religion and class wars in the
twenty-first century (chapter 27). He predicts a `return to the tribe' ± in Karl
Popper's phrase ± as regionalisms prolif-
140
erate. His evocative theoretical speculation seems open-ended enough to allow
historical forces to cross the fragile timeline into the new millennium.
Greg Cuthbertson
Andrew Roberts, Salisbury: Victorian
titan (London, Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1999), xii + 938 pp, illus, bibl,
index. ISBN 0 297 817 13 2
A striking aspect of the centenary celebrations commemorating the South African
War of 1899 to 1902 is that the role of
Lord Salisbury, the then British prime
minister, has been ignored. For many, the
South African War remains the war that
was engineered by Joseph Chamberlain,
minister for colonies, and Alfred Milner,
British high commissioner in South Africa.
The South African lack of interest in
Salisbury is reflected for example, in his
absence in the authoritative South African
Dictionary of Biography. In contrast, the
South African involvement of other British
statesmen such as Campbell-Bannerman,
Gladstone and Chamberlain, as well as
numerous other personalities who, in
comparison to Salisbury, could be considered minor, ensured their places in the
Dictionary. What makes the omission of
Salisbury even more startling is that Lord
Randolph Churchill has an entry purely as
a result of his controversial visit to southern Africa as a private citizen in 1891.
That Salisbury deserves to be remembered
is clear from Andrew Roberts's superb and
highly readable biography. He argues
convincingly that Salisbury was not
coerced into the South African War, as he
was in full control of his government and
imperial policy. For the events leading up
to, and the waging of the South African
War to be placed in proper context, the
role of Salisbury must be understood.
Robert Arthur Talbot Gascoyne-Cecil
was the third Marquess of Salisbury and
between 1885 and 1902 was three times
British prime minister. What makes this
Kleio XXXII, 2000
achievement even more impressive is the
fact that for most of this period he was
also the secretary for foreign affairs. He
was the most successful and one of the
most intellectual leaders of the Conservative Party in the nineteenth century. As
premier he won three elections with overwhelming majorities.
During his lonely childhood there were
few signs of Salisbury's potential brilliance. At Eton he was bullied so viciously
that his father had to remove him when his
health collapsed. His personality was
marked by a deep sense of pessimism and
fatalism (Roberts believed that this was
brought on by clinical depression) and he
contemplated with horror the concept of
optimism which he regarded as èssentially cowardly'. He was, however, selfconfident, endearingly eccentric and
blessed with a very good sense of humour.
Premier of arguably the greatest power in
the world at the time, he was a giant of a
man with an enormous beard. He took his
daily exercise on a huge tricycle, wearing a
purple velvet poncho while cycling down
The Mall in London.
Salisbury attended Oxford University
which taught him what he liked ± High
Anglicanism, High Toryism and the political and social status quo. He was wary of
attempts to extend the franchise as he
feared that tyranny was the inevitable
result of democracy. Salisbury's pessimistic view of humanity was deepened when
his father tried to disinherit him for
marrying Georgina Alderson, whose parents were solidly middle class. Apart from
her social status the second Marquess was
also unhappy with his new daughter-inlaw's lack of wealth. This led to Salisbury
being banned from Hatfield, the ancestral
home, for seven years and forced him to
earn a living as a journalist with the rightwing Saturday Review. His marriage was
sublimely happy and his wife gradually
lifted Salisbury out of his neurotic depression. He was also a loving and unconventional father who raised his children in a
very relaxed atmosphere.
The death of his older brother, followed
shortly afterwards by that of his father,
meant that he inherited the Salisbury
peerage and financial security. His new
status as the Marquess of Salisbury led to
his recruitment to Disraeli's cabinet in
which he proved to be a highly capable
minister as well as an effective politician.
He was a powerful platform speaker and
under his leadership the Conservative
Party was built into an effective electoral
machine. After fifteen years as a member
of the house of commons he moved to the
house of lords where he became the
Conservative Party leader and the last
prime minister to be a member of this
chamber.
Salisbury was a cunning and ruthless
political operator, especially when dealing
with potential competitors. He used his
nephew, Arthur Balfour, and Randolph
Churchill to undermine and ridicule Sir
Stafford Northcote, his rival for the leadership of the Conservative Party. As prime
minister Salisbury was a firm believer in
common sense and minimal state involvement in the way people ran their own lives.
The essence of Salisbury's support for
minimal legislation arose from his profound suspicion of any government's ability to do good. For him a successful
government was one that did as little as
possible. He also believed that the duty of
statesmen was to provide good governance
and to leave morality and upliftment to the
Church.
Salisbury, however, was firmly committed to the expansion of the British
Empire. He had an unsentimental view of
the empire as the foundation of Britain's
prosperity and power. For him the interests of Britain were always first and
foremost. As he put it in blunt terms: Ìf
our ancestors had cared for the rights of
other people the British empire would not
have been made.' As an imperialist Salisbury did not subscribe to any master-race
theory, and although he assumed that the
British were superior to Africans and
Asians, he considered it rude to say so.
In addition he loathed jingoism, which he
141
Kleio XXXII, 2000
saw as à large lunatic asylum at one's
back'. At the same time he used it to
expand the empire and to secure votes in
elections.
A proud imperialist, Salisbury thought
the British defeat at the Battle of Majuba
on 27 February 1881, and the Pretoria
Convention that gave the Transvaal some
measure of independence under British
suzerainty, a disgraceful capitulation to
the Boers. Salisbury believed in the politics of prestige and the empire's humiliation left him with a strong desire for
revenge. What made this defeat so galling
was that he heartily despised Afrikaners.
During a visit to the Cape Colony in 1851
he described them as in-bred, dishonest,
brutal savages who were illiterate and
stubborn slave drivers. Therefore he felt
that the Uitlander issue was more than just
the denial of franchise rights in the
Transvaal. Roberts points out the irony
that while Salisbury demanded political
rights for the Uitlanders he introduced a
tough Aliens Bill for Britain, with the
intention of restricting the number of
impoverished Polish and Russian Jews
from entering Britain. This number of
would-be immigrants was insignificant in
comparison to the Uitlander influx into the
Transvaal. But then Salisbury desired
Britain's overall supremacy in southern
Africa. This was something to which
President Paul Kruger refused to accede.
For Salisbury it was intolerable that the
Transvaal should be allowed to grow in
strength and become a greater threat to
British paramountcy, especially if it was
allowed to gain prestige by challenging the
empire. If a puny state such as the
Transvaal was allowed to twist the mighty
British lion's tail, it would have negative
global consequences.
Some historians have suggested that
Salisbury was dragged into the South
African War by Chamberlain and Milner,
but this was not the case. Salisbury would
have preferred to achieve supremacy by
peaceful means, but if it took a war to
erase the shame of Majuba, then so be it.
For diplomatic reasons he hoped that the
142
Boers would take the offensive first. In this
he succeeded as the Boers presented
Britain with an ultimatum. Roberts describes this ultimatum as one of the
bravest, if most foolhardy, documents of
the nineteenth century. Kruger played into
Salisbury's hands. He had carefully manoeuvred the Boer republics into a position
where Britain could act against them
without any outside interference.
Contrary to British popular belief Boer
resistance did not simply collapse. The
war started with a series of humiliating
defeats for Britain. The Boers, however,
were mistaken if they expected Britain to
give way as Gladstone had done in 1881.
In Salisbury they had to deal with a very
different type of politician, one for whom
imperial prestige was a treasured asset.
For his part, Salisbury underestimated the
Boers' desire to retain their freedom. Even
after the fall of the republican capitals the
war continued unabated and the Boers
adopted new guerrilla tactics.
Major sources of anxiety and frustration
for Salisbury were the incompetence of the
British generals, the obstinate Boer resistance and the rising cost of the war. He
supported Britain's scorched-earth policy
of razing farms and forcing Boer women
and children into refugee camps. Boer
resistance had to be crushed at all costs.
He was not prepared to accept any
compromise and made it clear in the house
of lords that the war could only end if the
republics accepted British supremacy.
The scorched-earth policy and concentration camps caused some unease in
Britain. Sir Henry Campbell-Bannerman,
leader of the Liberal Party, accused the
British army of applying methods of
barbarism in South Africa and the tragic
deaths of 20 000 Boer women and children
and 12 000 blacks in the concentration
camps. Roberts correctly argues that the
high mortality in these camps was not the
result of deliberate cruelty.
A comment on his analysis of the high
death rate was published in The Spectator
(2 October 1999) under the heading `They
brought it on themselves' in which em-
Kleio XXXII, 2000
phasis was placed on the lack of Boer
hygiene in the camps. This provocative
and misleading headline (surely the brainchild of a sub-editor) attracted the attention of South African newspapers, but
Roberts's sober and nuanced analysis
avoids sensationalism. He emphasises that
the Boers had a rudimentary understanding of modern science but makes it clear
that there were numerous other reasons
for the high death rate. The Royal Army
Medical Corps had to cope with far more
people than they had anticipated and could
not treat all the sick people in the camps.
In addition many Boer women and children arrived in the camps in a deplorable
state of health. Starvation was aggravated
by the shortage of supplies due to the Boer
attacks on British lines and moreover,
some camp sites were badly located.
Although there is much to commend
Roberts's analysis of the camp deaths he
does belabour the lack of Boer hygiene. It
must be remembered that the death rate
dropped drastically as the administration
of the camps improved. This does not
detract from Roberts's sympathetic but
honest biography and he does not absolve
Salisbury of any blame, concluding that he
must bear the ultimate responsibility for
what happened in the camps. Salisbury
believed that any war was terrible and that
the Boers should have thought of the
consequences when they invaded Natal
and the Cape.
In Salisbury's defence it must be stated
that by 1899 he was sickly and tired. He
intended to resign the moment the war
ended, never expecting it to last as long. In
1899 his wife was seriously ill and Salisbury cared more for her than for politics,
never truly recovering from her death in
November 1899. The loss of Queen Victoria, to whom he was very close, in January
1901, was also a huge personal blow to
him.
With the Boer surrender a weary Salisbury resigned as premier on 11 July 1902
and died a year later. The speed and ease
with which his nephew Arthur Balfour
inherited the premiership inspired the
popular phrase `Bob's your uncle'. Balfour's inheritance was, however, a ticking
time bomb as Salisbury had left his
nephew the war debt of a deeply divided
party and an empire dangerously overstretched and isolated. The British statesmen of the first half of the twentieth
century would find the empire a drain
instead of a source of strength for Britain.
In South Africa the war Salisbury had
helped to orchestrate left a legacy of
bitterness that poisoned local politics for
generations.
FA Mouton
Kenneth S Rothwell, A history of Shakespeare on screen: a century of
film and television (Cambridge,
Cambridge University Press, 1999),
308 pp, photographs, bibl, index.
ISBN 0521 59404 9
Rothwell's project in providing a detailed
chronology of the production of Shakespeare's works as `moving images' is an
ambitious one. Nevertheless, from its
beginning in September 1899 with Dickson
and Tree's production of excerpts from
King John (p 1) to its conclusion with
Branagh's lengthy Hamlet in 1996 (p 259)
this book succeeds in presenting a comprehensive history of the celluloid presentations of Shakespearan themes.
Rothwell's approach throughout the text
is to present specific productions in terms
of individual directors. Thus the book
consists, at one level, of a progression of
renowned names in the history of cinema.
Early twentieth-century innovators in placing Shakespeare on screen are given due
space and this impressive list includes
William Kennedy-Laurie Dickson, Sir Herbert Beerbohm (p 1) as well as those
responsible for the electric developments
demonstrated by the Kleine Optical Company (p 4) and John P Harris's unprecedented economic imput encoded in his
'nickelodeon' from 1907 (p 5). Progressing
143
Kleio XXXII, 2000
through the first decades of the twentieth
century, Rothwell moves, in his own
words, with the cinema `from nickelodeon
to palace' (pp 20±27) and then highlights
Mary Pickford's and Douglas Fairbanks's
The taming of the shrew (1929), not, as is
mistakenly believed, the first Shakespearan `talkie' but clearly identifiable as the
first feature-length talking Shakespeare
movie (p 29, Rothwell's italics).
For Rothwell, the fourth and fifth decades of the Shakespearean century on film
are dominated by the directorship of
Laurence Olivier, whose influential warcontextualised Henry V of 1944, together
with the post-war production of Hamlet in
1948 and Richard III in 1955, marked
crucial turning-points in the history of
screenplay and the general history of
British cinema (pp 62±67). Included in
the Olivier decades are the later productions of Othello (1965) and the television
appearances in The merchant of Venice in
1969 and King Lear as recently as 1983
(pp 69±70). Rothwell concludes his pivotal
third chapter by pointing out that òn a
1998 British Film Institute list of 360 film
classics released prior to 1981, only two
Shakespeare movies were included and
these were both directed by Olivier ±
Henry V and Richard III (p 71).
Rothwell then devotes a chapter to the
directorship of Orson Welles, sub-titling
this `Shakespeare for the art houses'
covering the important decade of the
1960s. A critical production here is Welles's Falstaff, made in 1966, which revolves around the Henriad scripts
(Richard II, Henry IV 1 and 2 and Henry
V) taking as starting-point a quotation
from Henry IV, 2, `we have heard the
chimes at midnight' (pp 194±219). Welles's contribution to cinema in `Chimes'
suggests Rothwell, is essentially a `ransacking' of the subtext of the Henriad
together with `shards' from The merry
wives of Windsor in which Falstaff as
victim becomes a leading narrative thread.
Rothwell concludes the chapter by noting
that despite Welles's substantial contribution to Shakespearan cinema, he was, as
144
director, unable to make a successful
transition from àrt house to mall house'
and this particular genre of screenplay
was never part of the later twentieth
century `market commodity' scene (p 94).
The second part of this comprehensive
text is modelled on the first part and,
again, individual directors are highlighted
as Shakespearan cinema moves from the
medium of simple film to the sophisticated
electronic web (pp 104±105). In this context, the 1970s were a decade of angst,
dominated by Roman Polanski's bloodsoaked Macbeth, released in 1971
(p 154). It is in this production that, for
Rothwell, Shakespeare makes the final
transition between the stage and modern
mass communication and the boundaries
between the original script and director's
interpretation are permanently blurred
(p 154). Polanksi's success in Macbeth,
suggests Rothwell, lay in his substitution
of Shakespearan text with a `glittering
array of visual and aural images. The
soundtrack penetrates into the heart of
the diegesis' (p 157). Polanksi's genius lay
not in using Shakespeare, but in pointing
the camera (p 160). Also included in the
1970s àge of angst' is Charlton Heston's
1972 Anthony and Cleopatra which, in
contrast to Macbeth, suggests Rothwell,
defied stereotypes and refused to conform
to a politically correct agenda (pp 163).
Heston's production marked a renewal of
Shakespearan cinema as it appropriated a
new commitment to the original script
(pp 163±4). In his next chapter, subtitled
`translation and expropriation', Rothwell
continues this argument and examines
screenplays produced in an international
context (for instance the Russian-directed
Othello in 1955) as well as alternative
versions of Shakespeare which appeared in
British cinema, for example Peter Greenaway's work on The tempest, presented as
`Prospero's Books' (pp 208±9). This chapter takes the debate into the 1980s as
interpretations of Shakespeare moved to
extreme comedy, often with little evidence
of the original scripts (pp 228±9).
Kleio XXXII, 2000
The 1990s are, for Rothwell, undoubtedly dominated by a single director, hence
the subtitle of the final chapter, `the age of
Kenneth Branagh' (p 230). In his attempts
to re-appropriate Shakespeare for a contemporary public, Branagh presents a
`shrewd merger of art and commerce'
and, through these methods, `resuscitated
the Shakespeare movie just when everyone
was announcing its death at the hands of
television' (p 246). This can arguably be
viewed as a series of acts of `complicity
with the agents of capitalist imperialism'
as evidenced in the 1990 Henry V in which
Branagh manages to produce an ànti-war
movie that also glorifies war' (pp 248±51).
Rothwell's final comment on Shakepearan
cinema is a criticism of Branagh's 1996
four-hour Hamlet in which `stunt casting'
distracts the audience from the main text
and in which Branagh's Hamlet is nothing
more than an `hysterical student prince'
(pp 254±58).
Rothwell ends his history by stating that
he shares Peter Greenaway's belief that
`film is still in its infancy' (p 259). Nevertheless, this book is an extremely comprehensive account of the director's gaze
behind the film camera and as such it fills
a crucial gap in a wide range of disciplines
including history, literature and media
studies. Rothwell also provides a chronological list of film titles (pp 299±308) in
addition to a a detailed filmography and
index title which run to a 31-page appendix. These lists are invaluable to students,
general readers and academic researchers
of the themes contained in the main text.
Julie Pridmore
145
Kleio XXXII, 2000
146
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